The Re-education of Special Agent Paula Cassidy
by TesubCalle
Summary: AU. This fic imagines a world where it was Paula who ended up replacing Kate on Gibbs' team. How differently might things have turned out? Read on to find out.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is hopefully the first installment in a series of fics that imagines a universe where Paula Cassidy was the one to join Team Gibbs after Kate was killed. So this story will be Ziva-free. Much of the dialog from the episode 'Silver War' has been directly lifted, with some very notable exceptions. Please enjoy. (Edited to address a 'hinky' problem with how one of Gibbs' rules was numbered... Sometimes, writing after midnight should not be done. Gremlins pop up.)**

* * *

**The Re-education of Special Agent Paula Cassidy**

_**Silver War**_

* * *

Special Agent Paula Cassidy came to the inescapable conclusion that two things would have happened if she had not killed Adam O'Neill, the deranged _protégé_ of notorious serial killer, Kyle Boone.

One: she would not have finally earned Special Agent Jethro Gibbs' trust in her skills as an NCIS agent, and two… well, she would not actually still be alive to have earned Gibbs' trust, because if she hadn't killed O'Neill, he would have killed her instead.

Two times, she'd run afoul of Gibbs, and Paula knew she was far from being on his list of favorites, if such a list even existed. The first time had been because she'd been too trusting of a colleague. Gibbs thought she was involved with an emerald-smuggling scheme out of GITMO; she had been too easily duped by the translator and the prisoner she'd been interrogating. She'd seen to it that she fixed that mistake, though, playing the prisoner and shooting him to prevent an assassination.

The second time had been because she was too compassionate towards a baby of an ensign who mouthed off to a Commander. Gibbs thought she'd looked the other way; Paula thought she had done the kid a favor by not writing up a formal report. The commander had been universally hated; the ensign had been especially singled out by the commander for abuse. Unfortunately, the kid became a suspect when the commander turned up dead under unusual circumstances. In the end, there would be no 'fixing' that one, and Kate Todd would eventually be forced to kill the kid when he threatened to shoot Gibbs.

Even in a federal law enforcement agency as relatively small as NCIS, Paula didn't really expect to run into Gibbs again after that debacle. She went back to resume her duties on the USS Kennedy; Gibbs' team had their jobs to do from D.C.

Director Morrow's order to report to the Navy Yard for duty had come through just as Paula was finishing up her Agent Afloat assignment, and she was looking forward to being back on terra firma for the foreseeable future. The day of her return was marred by the murder of Kate Todd at the hands of Ari Haswari. Plans for a date that very evening with DiNozzo were scuttled. A brief email from Tony expressing his regrets about cancelling the date (for obvious reasons) sat read, but undeleted in Paula's inbox for a long time.

Despite the cold shoulder she'd given Tony earlier when Gibbs had berated her in front of everyone for her lack of action with the commander and the ensign fiasco, Paula had to admit she'd been looking forward to the date. Tony could be goofy, but he was fun. _They_ had fun together, both aware that the attraction was mutual, but neither expecting anything of the other in the early stages of the game.

She had not been thrilled at the prospect of a week-long T.A.D. by any means. But after what happened to Kate, Paula knew it wasn't the time to quit being a team player on the grounds that she didn't particularly like the coach. Seeing Tony, again, though… Paula figured she could at least expect lots of harmless flirting and good-natured teasing, and she was happily prepared to give as good as she got.

It was contending with Gibbs that would be the challenge, because he was a notoriously hard task-master. Not that Paula minded hard work, but Gibbs expected his subordinates to do all the schlepping, had an abrupt, abrasive manner, and an enigmatic way of issuing instructions that she didn't think she would ever get used to (though McGee seemed to think otherwise, but what did the 'Probie' know?) Paula had never seen Gibbs crack a smile except in derision over something he found ludicrous, and she doubted he possessed a sense of humor. From Tony, she'd heard of the head-slaps, put-downs, an infallible 'gut', some nebulous list of 'rules', grouchy moods, and a black coffee addiction.

The Kyle Boone situation didn't improve the grouchy disposition. Just her luck she'd be with Gibbs' team the very week he was forced to face the same monster he's put away ten years earlier; just her luck, too, that Boone's lawyer turned out to be a twisted sicko who plotted to keep Boone's kill streak alive.

Getting herself kidnapped by Adam O'Neill had definitely not been Paula's plan when she assented to Director Sheppard's request to spend the week with Gibbs and company. Surviving Adam O'Neill, though, quickly did become her plan when it was clear he intended to make her his fifth victim. Applying pressure to the bastard's windpipe with the tread of her boot until he was dead – that had been one of the highlights of her week, eclipsed only by the look on Kyle Boone's face and his yell of rage when he found out she was still alive. Yes, she was alive, and Boone would soon be dead, fried to a crisp in the electric chair.

There had also been a look on _Gibbs'_ face when they found her alive, bruised and bleeding, wrists still bound behind her back, but with the corpse of O'Neill at her feet. It was a look that was relief and admiration rolled into one, and Paula managed to catch it just before it vanished altogether under a cool, remote business-like veneer of calm and control.

After surviving her abduction and brush with death, Paula was granted some medical leave. It made her stir-crazy to be inactive, but she knew she wouldn't be much use in the field with her arm in a sling, and she wasn't keen on being relegated to desk duty.

A genuinely concerned Tony called her a few times to check up on her, and she gently rebuffed him when he offered to come over and keep her company some evenings. Paula sensed he had no ulterior motives, but she didn't want to be an emotional burden to him, especially when she knew full well he wasn't over losing Kate. She assured him she was fine, and that her wounds were healing as expected. She did not mention that some nights were plagued by nightmares of her encounter with O'Neill, hoping instead that they would pass with time.

It was nearly impossible to avoid all the news coverage of the event, and it was a surreal experience reading her own name in print, and seeing her NCIS headshot on TV, along with all the lurid details of Boone and O'Neill's plot. Paula absolutely balked at being labeled a hero, thinking the term had been thrown around far too easily in this instance. But if killing a copy-cat murderer before he had a chance to kill more innocent women qualified her as such, Paula didn't see much point in disputing it. People liked stories with happy endings. She just hoped the story blew over quickly so her life could return to normal. The NCIS public-relations department was doing a wonderful job shielding her from prying members of the press corps, and Paula was grateful that none had managed to sniff out her address and phone number to pester her for the 'personal' side of her story of survival.

Paula's slashed shoulder was still tender when Director Sheppard summoned her for a meeting a week later, but at least she no longer required a sling. The facial bruises had faded to the point where makeup could easily cover them, so she didn't feel quite so self-conscious when meeting with her new boss.

At the landing on the top of the stairs, Paula waited for Cynthia Sumner to admit her for the appointment. The door opened, and to her mild surprise, Agent Gibbs emerged. He paused at the doorway, sent a look back Director Sheppard's way, then turned and gave Paula a quick once-over.

"You'll do," he said impassively, and moved to quickly descend the staircase into the bullpen.

_Once again, Gibbs, you have such a way of making a girl feel wanted,_ Paula mused, and then became instantly apprehensive over what he meant with those two words.

"Come in, Agent Cassidy," Director Sheppard called, beckoning with an inviting smile.

Paula entered and closed the door behind her.

"Have a seat," Jenny said, gesturing to a comfortable chair opposite her while removing her glasses with the other hand.

Paula did so, and waited expectantly for the director to initiate the conversation, taking in the décor of Jenny's office with a discerning eye. She'd never seen the interior before today, and wondered if Jenny had yet put her personal stamp on things, or if she were looking at the remnants of Director Morrow's sense of style.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jenny asked: "How are you doing, Paula?"

"I'm fine, Director Sheppard. No permanent damage," Paula answered easily. It wasn't really a lie; her shoulder was mending well, and one could hardly tell that half her face had looked like a black-and-blue mosaic mere days ago.

Jenny smiled softly. "That's good. But physical recovery aside, Paula, how are you_ feeling_? That scumbag could have killed you, and-"

"But he didn't," Paula interjected. If this conversation was going to be about the state of her mental and emotional health, she didn't need or want it to continue. "Like I said, I'm _fine. _He's dead, Boone is dead, and now the families of all those women can rest knowing justice was served."

"Yes, they can," Jenny agreed, "thanks in no small part to your actions. You had all of us here extremely worried when we found out you'd been abducted, Paula, and we're all extremely grateful you made it out of there alive. You did this agency proud, and an official commendation in recognition of your actions will be forthcoming."

Paula was embarrassed to feel a warm flush creeping up her neck and coloring her cheeks. "I – I don't know what to say," she stammered uncomfortably. "I was just doing my job… I actually feel a little foolish for what happened. I mean, I let my guard down. I should never have given O'Neill the chance to get the better of me out there in the field. It was a rookie mistake."

"He hit you with a _shovel_, Agent Cassidy. He completely blind-sided you," Jenny emphasized, showing her revulsion for the cowardly blitz attack, and her own reluctance to place any blame whatsoever on Paula. "From everything we pieced together from when Boone was gloating to Agent Gibbs, O'Neill was watching and waiting the whole time. It could have happened to anyone."

_Not anyone_, Paula thought glumly, _it wouldn't have happened to Gibbs._ "I guess you're right," she finally said, "but that's the last time I allow a perp to sneak up on me like that."

"Fair enough," Jenny commented, deciding it was time to move on to a different topic. "I've brought you up here for another reason, Agent Cassidy. As you're fully aware, with the recent loss of Special Agent Caitlyn Todd, one of my teams is short a member. I've met with Special Agent Gibbs. I've told him that based on your performance last week and your positive rapport with agents DiNozzo and McGee that you are my first choice to fill that empty spot on the team."

"Me?" Paula asked, nonplussed.

Jenny nodded. "Yes. Gibbs is on board with the re-assignment. You officially ended your Agent Afloat duties, and before he transferred out of this position, the previous director indicated that you would be an asset to Gibbs, given your criminal profiling background and your expertise on Middle Eastern terrorism. As you know full well, this agency's focus goes beyond merely investigating crimes involving Navy personnel: we're also in the business of combatting terrorism. To that end, your experience as an interrogator at GITMO is invaluable. You know how those monsters think. You know what they're capable of."

Paula could see the expectant look on Jenny's face, willing her to accept the new placement. Gibbs' "You'll do" comment echoed in her mind.

_So that's what he was referring to,_ she thought, wondering at the same time if Jenny hadn't twisted his arm to accept her on his team. Gibbs was nowhere close to being the demonstrative type, so his 'you'll do' was probably the closest she was going to get to a 'welcome'. Paula also became uncomfortably aware of the lingering sting inflicted by Gibbs' comment to her back at GITMO about being part of the same agency – but not the same team. Even after nearly two years, it had left an indelible mark.

"How soon would this assignment begin?" Paula ventured to ask.

"Effective immediately," Jenny responded, interlocking her fingers on her desk in a business-like manner.

"I see," Paula murmured, considering what it would mean now to be on the same team as Anthony DiNozzo. They'd have to make a serious decision to put a lid on anything that could be construed as fraternizing in the office; that was for sure. Plus, there was that _rule_ Tony had once mentioned when she had dared to ask why Gibbs had initially seemed so downright hostile towards her that first night in Guantanamo Bay.

"_Rule 12,"_ Tony had quoted. "_Never date a co-worker, because romance between agents never works."_

"There is, however, the minor matter of your weapons requalification," Jenny mentioned, after Paula signed her re-assignment orders.

"What about it?"

"You missed your scheduled requalification last week," Jenny explained. "Until you pass, I can't put you out in the field."

"Nobody told me about anything that," Paula said, slightly irritated at the oversight.

"It's nothing to be upset about," Jenny said in a placating tone. "You did nothing wrong. NCIS may be small, but there's still the usual red tape and bureaucratic crap like anywhere else. I'm sorry it wasn't communicated to you earlier. With everything that happened this past month along with your emergency medical leave the past few days, it slipped through the cracks. You get it done, and you're back in the field; simple as that. I can arrange for you to do it as early as tomorrow, in fact."

"What do I do today?"

"You grab a desk; you get caught up on any current files on the team's docket, and you get familiar with the way Gibbs likes to get things done," Jenny said. "A word of advice: Gibbs has his own… unique way of doing things."

"So I've heard," Paula said wryly. _And experienced, however briefly_, she added to herself, recalling when Gibbs called the team out to the Boone family farm and how he'd quickly measured her before uttering "you'll do" during her recent T.A.D. – no explanation given for why they were there in the first place, or what they would be doing.

Jenny looked at the younger woman warily, afraid her words had the unintended effect of giving a negative impression of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "His brand of leadership takes getting used to, but he's the best damn agent I ever met. He taught me everything I know. There's a lot you can learn from him, too, if you allow yourself to be taught."

Paula gave a curt nod; tacitly and respectfully acknowledging that the woman before her had managed to reach her high position because she'd had Gibbs as a mentor.

"So… I'm essentially on desk duty, then, until I'm officially permitted to carry my service weapon in the field?"

"That's right," Jenny confirmed, as she slipped her eyeglasses back on her face.

"Then tomorrow can't come fast enough."

* * *

ooo

* * *

Paula stepped off the last stair into the bullpen. By this time, Tony was at his desk, attending to some routine task, and Timothy McGee was having what seemed to be a very involved phone conversation. Gibbs watched her approach them from his own desk and stood up as she came towards him.

"I have an announcement," the senior agent spoke up. Tony and McGee were instantly attentive. Paula caught Tony sending her a small smile, and she gave a covert wave in his direction.

"Agent Cassidy has been assigned to the team," Gibbs continued, "effective immediately."

Tony's smile expanded to that of a full grin.

To Paula, Gibbs said: "You can grab the desk you had last week." With that he sat again and began flipping through a file he'd been studying before her arrival.

Paula pointed to Agent Todd's unoccupied desk. "Then I guess that's still -"

"Kate's desk," Tim and Tony said in unison.

"Right," Paula sighed, and ambled towards the area she'd been relegated to the week of the Kyle Boone case.

"Nice to have you back with us, Agent Cassidy," Tim quickly piped up, cradling his telephone receiver to his shoulder.

"Thank you, McGee," Paula replied as she slid into 'her' chair.

Tony took it upon himself to make his welcome a little more personal. With another dazzling smile, he jauntily approached and stood in front of her. "I agree with the Probie: it is _very_ nice to have you back with us, Paula. How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replied. "Just… feeling a little miffed, at the moment."

Tony's face fell. He was instantly troubled, and worried that Paula's problem had something to do with him. "Oh? Why is that?"

"It's nothing, really," Paula revealed, looking up at him seriously. "I've been sort of temporarily benched by the director because I missed my routine weapons requalification. I'm not allowed out in the field until I get it done... And I guess I'm also… never mind."

"Also – what?" Tony pressed her to continue. "You can tell me."

Paula waved him off. "It's okay," she reassured him, but nevertheless felt slight indignation over again being denied a desk closer to the rest of the team. How long would Kate's desk be off-limits? Was it going to forever remain some sort of shrine to the fallen agent? Paula understood clearly that it was only just over a month since Kate's tragic death, but surely the desk couldn't sit unused forever…

She hadn't much time to ponder further, as Tim noisily hung up his phone and approached Gibbs with urgency.

"Uh, boss, we have a situation at the Smithsonian Museum," he said, relating the information from notes he must have scribbled during the phone conversation he'd been having.

"What?" snapped Gibbs in an impatient tone, appearing to be busy with something far more pressing than what a museum could possibly offer in terms of a viable investigation.

Tim stumbled over his words, trying to regain some of his lost confidence over Gibbs' perceived lack of interest. "Uh, well – it's uh, kind of complicated, but there may have been a murder."

"'May have been', McGee?" Gibbs asked dubiously, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah," Tim replied. "They have a Union soldier who was dug up from a battlefield in Manassas, and now they think that he may have been a marine."

"It was the Civil War, McGee. Marines fought on both sides," Gibbs remarked.

"I know, I know," McGee added hastily, "but this marine had dog tags. Didn't exist back then."

Paula saw Gibbs send McGee a look that telegraphed 'tell me something I don't know'.

"I know that you know that, being a marine," McGee commented lamely.

Gibbs was running out of patience. "Get to the point, McGee!"

"Well, they think that this marine was killed recently," the Probie stated nervously, "and, um, somehow buried in a way – they can't quite explain it – but in a hundred-and-forty-year-old cast iron casket."

"Dressed as a Union soldier?" Gibbs was incredulous.

"Basically – yeah," McGee confirmed, knowing full well how ludicrous the whole thing sounded.

After a few beats, Gibbs reached into his drawer, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to the young agent. "Gas the truck, McGee," he instructed, and then barked: "DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, boss?" replied Tony, snapping to attention at the sound of his name.

"We've got a murder in your area of expertise: the Civil War."

Paula saw her new team mate visibly deflate. "I can hardly wait," Tony commented with a complete lack of enthusiasm, "it's my favorite subject." He turned to gather his gear to prepare for the investigation.

"What about me?" Paula asked. "Director Sheppard doesn't want me out in the field until-"

"I know," Gibbs cut in. "Until you pass your weapons requalification."

"Right," Paula said with a sullen sigh.

"You're coming along, too."

"But, I thought I wasn't permitted to be out there without my service piece," Paula lightly protested, though she was pleased that she seemingly wasn't going to be stuck at her desk after all.

"Your service piece, yeah," Gibbs said. "No one said anything about you not being able to carry one of these in the field." He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a Ka-Bar, still in its leather sheath. "Rule number nine: always carry a knife. You _do_ know how to use a knife, Agent Cassidy?"

"Yes, of course," she stated with confidence, taking the weapon and immediately concealing it at her waist.

"Good," Gibbs said, eyeing her carefully. "I want you out there with the team, and I can't have you weaponless. The knife is the next best thing after your firearm."

* * *

ooo

* * *

While Gibbs and Ducky met with the forensic anthropologist responsible for the tip, Paula accompanied Tony and Tim to question the workers who had first unearthed the cast iron casket bearing the remains of the as-yet unidentified marine.

The questions were all routine ones, as were the answers. A housing project was going up around the Bull Run Battlefield in Manassas, and when they found the casket, one Dr. Elaine Burns had been called in due to her expertise in the field. It was only when Dr. Burns began filming the opening of the artifact for _The Recovery Channel_ that it became clear there was some chicanery involved: a cell phone didn't belong inside a one hundred-and-forty-year-old casket.

Tony diligently got the name of the construction company involved, and scheduled an interview and soil tests for the next day. Tim found that the cell phone – the only thing removed from the casket – was non-operational. He bagged-and-tagged it and Paula helped him take fingerprints of the lab workers so Abby could later run them against any found in the casket or on the body. They took note that Dr. Burns had been wearing surgical gloves when she picked up the cell phone.

The trio were cooling their heels, waiting for Gibbs and Ducky to return from their preliminary examination of the body, when Tony decided to poke around a storage area that housed some of the museum exhibits not currently on display. Paula quickly realized that once the 'work' was done, her new team member was quite content to goof off.

_When the cat's away, the mice will play_, Paula thought in amusement, as McGee was Tony's willing accomplice. She stood aside as Tony became enthralled by a stuffed polar bear, egging Tim on to snap pictures of him in all sorts of 'frightened' poses.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that they'd better smarten up before Gibbs returned, or he was liable to maul them to death, never mind a dead bear. She refrained, though, realizing this sort of behavior was probably a regular occurrence.

"So, why don't you like the Civil War, Tony?" Paula asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to distract him, recalling his earlier lack of enthusiasm. This brought the other agent's antics to an immediate halt.

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded sourly, shoving his cap onto his head.

"Is this something else that requires an unhealthy amount of junk food in order to deal with it instead of talking about it?"

Paula hadn't meant it to be an unkind comment, but Tony scowled slightly and clammed up. Sensing the sudden shift in mood, Tim lowered his camera and looked uneasily between the pair.

Biting her lip, Paula said contritely: "Aw, Tony. That came out wrong. It's just that I noticed you weren't thrilled about this one."

"It's because of his father," Tim supplied, trying to be helpful.

"Was she talking to you, Probie?" Tony huffed, sending a deeper scowl in the junior agent's direction.

"It's fine, guys. I get it," Paula broke in, wanting to avoid an escalation. "It's a _verboten_ subject. Tony, forget I mentioned it. Sorry I brought it up."

Gibbs chose that moment to stride into the room. "Never apologize, Agent Cassidy," he intoned without even glancing her way. "It's a sign of weakness. Rule six."

"Hmm. Rule six: never apologize, and rule nine: always carry and knife. Did we skip the rest of the rules up to nine for a reason, or is there a make-up class I can take to get the full list?" Paula asked, slightly perturbed by his sudden intrusion.

This time, Gibbs did look her way. "Oh, by the time I'm done with you, Agent Cassidy, you'll know all of them, top to bottom. And I can assure you there's way more than nine; I'm just getting started."

He finally turned away from her to address the other two agents. "Report?" he asked.

Tony gave Gibbs a run-down of his findings, and Tim added what he knew about the cell phone; Paula commented that they had the necessary fingerprints in their care, ready for comparison and elimination purposes.

"Good," Gibbs commented. "I'll escort the casket back with Ducky. We'll meet in the squad room."

* * *

ooo

* * *

The drive back to NCIS HQ was uneventful, and Paula found herself reviewing her exchange with Gibbs about his 'rules'. _I guess this is what Director Sheppard meant_ _when she said his brand of leadership takes some getting used to_. He had an autocratic way of doing things, and he rarely seemed to give praise of any sort. She had no problem with the knife-carrying rule; that one made sense on many levels. But since when was apologizing a sign of weakness? Apologizing was a sign of humility, perhaps… and maybe Gibbs equated being humble with being weak, because if anything, Gibbs was far from the humble type.

After running the corpse's fingerprints through AFIS, Tim was able to identify them as belonging to one Staff Sergeant Warren Sorrow, an MSG instructor stationed at Quantico. The dead man's image flashed up on the plasma screen for them to see.

"What do we have on the Staff Sergeant, McGee?" Gibbs asked, having just arrived himself after escorting the body with Ducky to Autopsy.

The junior agent reported that Sorrow had been reported UA about a year earlier. "I'm currently building a profile on what his life was like before his disappearance."

"Not anymore," Gibbs countered. "I want you with Abby. Find out what was on the cell phone we found in the casket."

Tim complied with the order without a word, bustling off to Abby's lab with the evidence bag containing the phone.

"Tony; Paula: I want you two on the paper trail. I want to know everything about him by the time I get back," Gibbs said, divvying up the file on Staff Sergeant Sorrow between them.

"On it, Boss," Tony said, taking his share of the files.

Feeling like she should also issue some sort of reply, Paula echoed Tony's response: "On it." She palmed her workload and retreated to her desk to begin digging into what Sorrow's life was like before he met his mysterious end.

They'd been into the 'paper trail' chase nearly three hours before Paula started wondering where, exactly, Gibbs had disappeared to. Night had fallen, and the overhead fluorescent lights that were kept on during the day had been turned off. She was working mainly by the light of her desk lamp now, and her eyes were growing tired. Realizing Gibbs had not returned once since he'd set them about their tasks made her sit up and look over in Tony's direction. She was heartened to see he was quite focused on his work; it was further confirmation for her that he was capable of buckling down even when the boss' prying eyes were absent.

Paula rolled her chair over to his desk, thinking it was okay to take a mini-break. Besides, she was pretty sure she had uncovered all she was likely to uncover, unless Gibbs expected them to find out the most trivial aspects of Sorrow's life. She smiled to herself just imagining Gibbs needing to know when Sorrow lost his first baby tooth, or some other unimportant matter.

"Hey, Tony," she whispered, idly admiring his profile and the way the light from his desk lamp gently illuminated the soft tufts of hair on his head, "does Gibbs pull this sort of disappearing act often?"

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, looking up from his monitor. A tiny smile crept up on his face at her presence. It seemed he didn't mind taking a mini-break, either.

"I mean," Paula stated, "he's left us with the lion's share of the legwork. Where is he? We're supposed to 'know everything' about Staff Sergeant Sorrow by the time he gets back, but… when is he supposed to get back?"

"Well," Tony said reflectively, "let's see… did you get all you could get about the stiff's life story?"

"Pretty much," Paula replied with a wry twist of her mouth. "Anything else would just be totally superfluous."

"Ditto for me," Tony said, giving his arms a long stretch, "which means that Gibbs is likely to show up right about… now."

Tony spun his head towards one of the small conference rooms just off the bullpen. Paula followed his gaze, and was surprised when the door opened. She was even more surprised when Gibbs exited with a pretty, middle-aged red-head she'd never seen before. The woman was laughing softly, and Gibbs was actually smiling broadly as he escorted her towards the elevators.

"Who's the woman with Gibbs?" Paula inquired, staring after them in amazement. It was really the last thing she expected to see at NCIS HQ.

"Once you're here long enough, you'll figure it out," Tony quipped.

"Is it his girlfriend?" Paula asked, and then regretted it, realizing it was perhaps too intimate a question to be asking of her new boss.

"I have no idea," Tony commented.

"Hmm," Paula mused. "I guess you just haven't been here 'long enough' to have figured it out either, right?"

"Pretty much," Tony sighed, "just promise me you'll tell me if you figure it out first, okay?"

The sound of footfalls on the stairs attracted their attention. Looking up, the pair of agents saw Director Sheppard pause for a moment as she peered down at Gibbs and his lady friend. Paula turned slightly and saw Gibbs plant a kiss on the woman's cheek just before she stepped into the waiting elevator. Quickly, she glanced back up at the director and thought she caught a tiny, wistful expression cross her face before she continued up the stairs to her office.

_I wonder what that's all about_, Paula thought, but shelved it when Ducky appeared, asking for Gibbs' whereabouts.

"Your two o'clock, Ducky," Tony answered briskly.

"What's wrong, Duck?" Gibbs asked, hearing his name spoken in a certain tone that indicated his colleague did not bring glad tidings.

"I know how our staff sergeant died," the medical examiner said regretfully.

"From your look," Gibbs commented insightfully, "I'm guessing it wasn't a musket ball..."

Gibbs' guess was correct, and Tony and Paula immediately got up from their seats to follow the other two down to Autopsy to see for themselves what Ducky was talking about.

Dr. Mallard started in on his narration the moment the elevator doors slid open on the basement level. "At first one could assume that a projectile of such size and mass would produce almost instant death," he stated as he grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from a shelf.

The desiccated corpse of Sergeant Sorrow was in plain view in the lab, and though Paula had seen her share of dead bodies in her time as an NCIS agent, there was still something disquieting about this particular corpse. The chest cavity was exposed as the flaps of skin delineated by the Y-incision lay draped over the head and sides of the body. Paula averted her gaze.

Ducky was explaining the unreliability of pre-Civil War muskets because they lost most of their velocity over the first hundred meters. He led them to the post-mortem X-rays, and pointed to a white blob situated at the base of the dead man's skull.

"Our sergeant was grievously wounded by a musket ball, but his injury was _not_ fatal," Ducky said, raising his index finger as if to make certain that point.

"Then, how did he die, Dr. Mallard?" Paula asked, puzzled, and still not quite comfortable using the 'Ducky' moniker she'd heard the others using; she didn't want to seem presumptuous.

"His lung tissue was coated with an extremely fine film of rust particles," he replied, and brought their attention to a sample of lung tissue in a petri dish. "… And one can only imagine how long he clawed at the iron sides of his casket, trying to escape before he suffocated."

Moving over to the body on the examination table, Ducky held up the right hand, letting them all see for themselves the appalling state of the tips of the fingers. Aghast, Paula looked over at Tony, and saw reflected in his face the same level of revulsion she was experiencing at the sight of the mutilated digits. Based on what she was seeing, Paula reckoned that Sergeant Sorrow had scraped off more than a layer of rust; he'd also scraped off every one of his fingernails in his dying struggle to get out of his tomb, shredding his fingers to the bone.

"So, let me get this straight," Paula said to Tony and Tim the next morning, "you're saying that a marine dressed as a Union soldier, shot by a musket ball, and then buried in an antique casket _isn't_ the weirdest case you've ever had?"

"Nope," Tony answered, as he stared at the dead staff sergeant's image on the plasma screen.

Paula was unconvinced. "I mean, I've seen some weird things, too, but _this_ – this has to beat all."

"I dunno, Paula," Tony said as he turned to look at her with a smirk, "but I seem to recall a case with a Navy translator trying to smuggle emeralds in his bowels. The 'ick' factor aside, you've gotta admit that one rates pretty high on the 'weird' list."

"Mm, yeah," Paula said ruefully. "I must have blocked that one out. Not exactly my brightest hour, that case."

"And to think we would have never met if those gems hadn't perforated poor what's-'is-name's intestines and killed him," Tony added with a teasing smile. "No ride to GITMO on a Navy Gulf Stream, no fancy foot-work on a dance floor at _El Floridita_, no ride _back_ to D.C. with you on the jet…"

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Tony," Paula responded, slipping into a playful, verbal parrying mode, "here's to perforated bowels and gem-smuggling terrorists."

"Are you two serious?" Tim asked, turning a slight shade of green at the mention of such an unpleasantly gross manner of death. He'd just finished eating a breakfast burrito, and was looking like he was on the verge up bringing it all back up.

"Dead serious, Probie," Tony stated, shooting him a look that brought a halt to any further questioning.

"I think I'm gonna go help Abby," Tim muttered, swallowing heavily.

Paula watched him go, and saw Gibbs making his way down the stairs. Hoping to forestall any questions from their boss, Tony launched into a dialog about their findings from the evening before.

"We've got a lead on how our staff sergeant ended up in a Union soldier's uniform," he stated, approaching the printer and pulling out a sheet from the tray. "He was a member of the local C.W.R. out of Fairfax. These are all guys who get together, dress up in period costumes, re-enacting famous battles…"

"I know what C.W.R. means, Tony," Paula said, realizing he'd been elaborating for her benefit.

"Get to the point, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbled, showing annoyance at the unnecessary details.

"Right, boss," Tony uttered. He referred to the print-out in his hand and said, "According to this schedule, they're preparing for one of those re-enactments this week in Manassas… You know, Manassas? The same Manassas where they dug up Sergeant Sorrow…"

"Yeah, we get it, DiNozzo," Gibbs commented dryly. "It's not a coincidence."

Paula watched as Tony valiantly ignored the put-down, but Gibbs didn't notice and was already on the move. "Let's go," he called to them to follow, "Abby's found something."

They trailed after him to the forensics lab, and were greeted by some rather depressing, mournful Dixieland Jazz playing in the background. Abby was nowhere to be seen.

"Abs?" called Gibbs.

Meekly, the young woman stepped out of hiding. Instead of her usual lab coat, garish Goth make-up and accoutrements, they saw her attired in a pale lilac skirt-and-blazer ensemble complete with dressy high heels. Her hair was down and left to hang in gentle tendrils, completely unlike her usual no-nonsense pigtails.

"I look like a freak," she lamented, a solid pout spoiling her features.

"Whoa," Tony breathed, staring at her.

"See, I don't think she really looks that bad," Tim commented, causing Paula to wonder a little about the junior agent and the status of his relationship with Abby.

"Why?" Gibbs asked, showing clear indignation for Abby's garment predicament.

Still frowning, Abby unsteadily wobbled over to Gibbs with a piece of paper. "One of the director's new admin weenies brought me this last night," she said, as she handed him the new missive. "It's the NCIS dress code. He said I was in violation."

"He did, did he?" Gibbs asked softly and sympathetically, scanning the page.

"It's bad enough that I have to wear a monkey suit for court appearances, but every day?" Abby said sorrowfully, as if the thought of having to conform would be the death of her.

"I think you look nice, Abby," Paula said kindly, trying in vain to lift the other woman's spirits. "Really."

"'Nice'?" Abby repeated. "You think I look 'nice'?! I look like – like -"

"Career-Girl Barbie," Tony suggested; a dreamy expression on his face.

"Oh, my God…"Abby whispered, slowly bringing her hands close to her chest in a moment of pathetic realization that Tony's comparison was spot on, "I do…" She pivoted on her heel and extended an arm to help stabilize her body in motion. "Urgh… I can't work like this, Gibbs."

"I'll take care of it, Abs," Gibbs said.

"I'm allergic to polyester," the scientist grumbled as if she didn't hear Gibbs. She reached for her Bart the Farting Hippo toy for comfort. "It makes me itch. It's a medical condition. I could get a note from the doctor-"

Gibbs interrupted the flow of words that were cascading out of her mouth at an almost indecipherable rate. "Abby," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder to calm her, "I _said_, I'll take care of it."

This seemed to placate her. She gave a small smile, and then hugged Bart, causing the toy to emit the customary 'rude' noise.

"Can we get back to work, now?" asked Gibbs in a sterner manner.

"Do I have to wear the shoes?" Abby inquired.

Gibbs simply crumpled up the paper and tossed it in an answer to her question.

Barefooted, Abby proceeded. "The circuit board on the cell phone was damaged," she explained in a much livelier manner than the dour one of the preceding minutes, "but we managed to get it working again. The battery shut down on October 3rd, 2004."

The phone's dial history scrolled on a monitor for the rest of them to see, and Tim picked up where she left off. "The last twenty-two calls were made to 9-1-1."

"None of them went through," added Abby.

"He was calling from inside the casket," Tony stated.

"Yup," confirmed McGee. "Cast iron and buried underground."

"I don't think anyone's calling plan extends that far, Tony," said Abby.

Gibbs spotted something. "What are the last entries here?" He was indicating several long strings of numbers, many of them repeated, and no immediate discernible pattern.

"Well, he was running low on oxygen, Boss," Tim reasoned. "I assume he was trying to dial another number and hit random keys."

"Find out," Gibbs said. He'd seen enough. He moved over to the casket, asking Abby now what she had discovered about it. She informed him that she had found traces of the staff sergeant's blood inside the cover.

"I also found two very distinct types of dirt on the outside," Abby mentioned. One, she explained, was common Virginia red clay, but the other had a high concentration of fertilizer.

To Tony, Gibbs immediately asked: "What time are you meeting with the construction company that found this?"

"0900,"Tony replied.

"You go," instructed Gibbs. "See if there's anything left at that crime scene."

"On it," Tony said, and took off.

Gibbs turned to Paula. "You," he said, "Director Sheppard's got you slated for your weapons requalification today."

"That's right," Paula answered. "At 0900 hours."

"Make damn sure you pass, Cassidy," Gibbs uttered as he made for the elevator.

"I always do," she said under her breath to his retreating figure.

* * *

ooo

* * *

A few hours later, Tony and Paula were sharing a ride in the elevator back to the squad room, both returning at the same time from their respective tasks.

"What do you think Gibbs would do if I told him I failed to re-qualify on my course of fire?" she asked absently.

Tony looked at her with a small measure of concern. "Did you fail?"

"Of course I didn't fail, Tony," Paula replied, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to know if anyone around here has ever tried to pull his leg… I mean, does the man even _have_ a sense of humor?"

"After three ex-wives, I think the answer is probably a big, fat 'no'," Tony stated with confidence.

"I heard that about him," Paula said, cocking her head and looking at Tony. "Guess it goes a long way in explaining why he's such an insufferable bastard."

Tony leaned in slightly. "Maybe," he said, adopting a more intimate tone, "but I'd wager he was born that way."

The elevator doors opened, and they both straightened up in order to appear as normal as possible on the squad room floor.

From his desk, Gibbs asked: "How'd it go?"

"Nothing, Boss," Tony reported, sloughing off his backpack. "The building site was clean, figuratively speaking. I taped off the area, but we're not going to find anything."

"Paula?" Gibbs threw his gaze in her direction.

"Passed with flying colors, Boss," she announced. "Thanks for the letting me carry your knife yesterday." She started to remove Gibbs' Ka-Bar from where she'd concealed it, but he waved her off.

"Keep it," he said, "until you get one of your own."

"Er, right," Paula murmured, slipping the weapon back into place. "Rule nine."

"Gibbs!" Abby's voice was excited as she hurried into the bullpen with Tim in tow. "We did it."

"Did what, Abs?"

She turned to Tim to let him do the explaining, which he did. "Those random numbers weren't random after all, Boss," he announced.

Abby's exuberance was irrepressible. "Staff Sergeant Sorrow was leaving us a text message from the grave!"

Moments later, they were all looking at the deciphered message, which had been run through the phone's text converter. "'Only got half. Oxbow not on his side'," McGee quoted, "'Kearns, don't let him get safety-deposit box.'"

Tony seemed disappointed. "That it?"

"We ran his social through the banking system," Abby said. "Staff Sergeant Sorrow has a safety-deposit box paid for five years at the Virginia Savings and Trust."

Upon hearing this, Gibbs said: "McGee, get me a-"

"Warrant," Tim immediately stated, having anticipated the request, "I already called it in, Boss."

"DiNozzo: Oxbow and Kearns?"

"On it," he said.

"Get me into the safety-deposit box, McGee," Gibbs said to the junior agent. "Cassidy, go with him."

Silently, Tim and Paula geared up and departed to see to their assignment. As they rode in the elevator, Tim smiled shyly at her. "I think I'll take a bank over a filthy chimney any day," he said.

Paula knew he was trying to be light-hearted about the last time they'd been paired up for something, and she had to admit she didn't relish having to poke around the sooty, bird-carcass filled chimney, either. She feigned aloofness, however, unable to resist teasing the Probie on this point.

"Better hope the safety-deposit box isn't up high," she stated airily, "otherwise I'll be using you as a step-ladder again. What was that about me weighing more than 120 pounds, McGee?"

Tim swallowed uncomfortably, but was saved from having to answer when the elevator doors opened. "After you," he stammered, and she slipped through the opening ahead of him. She let him drive, not because she didn't want to, but because she thought it would be a nice gesture that would indicate she wasn't going to be treating him unkindly at every turn. Paula sensed he was often the butt of Tony's joking personality, and figured that a person really could only tolerate so much ridicule, even if it was all in fun.

Along the way, Tim seemed on the verge of wanting to ask a question, but refrained several times. Paula wasn't going to press him, so she instead began the conversation.

"So…" she started, "Abby as Career-Girl Barbie…"

This brought an unconscious smile to McGee's face as a mental image of the Goth-scientist developed in his head. "Yeah…" he replied softly.

A knowing smile crossed Paula's own face, thinking there was definitely some latent attraction.

"Seems like Gibbs is willing to bend over backwards to appease her," Paula observed. "How'd she manage to get into his good books?"

"Uh, I don't know," Tim replied truthfully. "I guess he just likes her work ethic, which has absolutely nothing to do with how she chooses to dress. I mean, without Abby… we'd be pretty much sunk."

Paula was silent for a few moments, reflecting that if not for Abby and Tim's hard work, they would not have found Kyle Boone's dumping ground.

"Agent Cassidy," Tim haltingly said, "I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Tim," Paula interrupted in an almost chiding manner, "we're on the same team now. Just call me 'Paula', okay?"

He turned a self-conscious glance her way, and then returned his attention to the road. "Okay. Sorry. Paula… I, uh… I guess I just really wanted to know how you're doing. I mean, when we couldn't find you out there after we discovered those bodies… When I saw the Polaroid snapshot of you that O'Neill left behind, I panicked. My only thought was that we'd just lost Kate. We couldn't lose you, too… And Abby… she was blaming herself, because she missed something she thought she should have seen earlier, and… well… when Tony and Gibbs called in to say you were safe, I was so relieved."

When he noticed Paula hadn't said anything throughout his monologue, he stopped. "Sorry," he said. "I'm, uh, not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

"No, Tim," she answered. "Adam O'Neill is dead, and so is Kyle Boone. And I'm doing fine. My shoulder is still a little sore, but otherwise, I'm fine, really. Thanks for your concern."

McGee seemed relieved, and he exhaled quietly. Paula certainly was glad he showed genuine concern, but did not feel it necessary to tell him that the night before she'd had a chilling and vivid dream about being attacked by both Boone and O'Neill. Just as she had done in the actual sequence of events, Paula remembered she had tried to defend herself against her abductors with her only useful limbs: her legs. The struggle had been so real, her kicking motion had jerked her awake; heart pounding in her chest and breath coming in heaving gasps.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

The plaza in front of the Northern Virginia Savings and Trust was busy with people meandering about. As it was situated in a popular area where business offices competed with shops and boutiques, many individuals were milling around with shopping bags and briefcases. With the fine weather, some were simply just out for a walk during their lunch break, while others sat reading newspapers on the available benches. Tim and Paula passed by an oblong fountain that burbled in the middle of a small courtyard right in front of the bank. Sunlight danced gaily on the surface of its shallow pool of water. The calm of the fountain helped offset the busy street traffic nearby.

The assistant bank manager, Sally Smith, a pretty, petite young woman with dark, curly hair, was waiting for the agents and the warrant. "I understand Staff Sergeant Sorrow has been missing," she commented, though it was more of a questioning tone. She retrieved the safety-deposit box and brought it to a private room so the agents could examine the contents.

Not betraying anything about the case, Tim asked: "Who told you that?"

Her reply was matter-of-fact. "His brother," she said. "He's inquired several times about the safety-deposit box."

"But… Staff Sergeant Sorrow doesn't have a brother," Paula stated, recalling that nowhere in her investigation into the man's past did any mention of a sibling show up.

Sally looked at Paula, distressed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Paula said, sending McGee a look of worry that was reflected back to her.

"Well, in any case, without a death certificate and a court order, our policy is to maintain the contents until the lease runs out. The man claiming to be the brother had neither." She looked at them warily. "_Is_ Staff Sergeant Sorrow missing?"

"Not anymore," Tim said, his face matching his regret. Sally's eyes went wide with comprehension.

"When was the last time the man claiming to be the staff sergeant's brother inquired about the box?" Tim queried.

Sally's look became pensive. "Maybe two or three weeks ago?" she guessed. "I'm sorry I can't narrow it down more for you…"

Tim continued his line of questioning: "Can you describe him for us?"

"Uh, about six feet, dark hair, dark eyes… I'm sure I can pull security camera footage of him."

"We'd be grateful if you could, Ms. Smith," Tim said.

"I can't believe it," Sally commented with a shake of her head. "All this time… Sergeant Sorrows wasn't even alive…"

"I think we should probably open the box now," Paula urged, not wanting to dwell on the subject of Sergeant Sorrow's horrific manner of death, the details of which Sally did not need to know.

The banker took the hint and excused herself. "I'll get in touch with our security company for that footage," she said, and briskly exited the room.

"You open it," Paula offered, gesturing towards the box. Tim lifted the lid, revealing a shriveled, severed human hand. A large, ornate ring adorned the fourth finger, and the hand enclosed a yellowed scroll of paper.

"McGee, I think this case just took the title away from my GITMO case as being the weirdest ever," Paula murmured.

Tim pursed his lips and nodded. Paula pulled the camera bag out of the knapsack. After taking a handful of photographs of the newfound evidence, the agents pulled on gloves and gingerly removed the hand and scroll from the box. With slow, painstaking motions, they eventually managed to separate the paper from the hand since they didn't want to risk either tearing the old parchment, or ruining the hand. Tim took a few close-up shots of the impressive gold ring, just for good measure, while Paula carefully unrolled the scroll.

"It's a map," she declared, taking in the markings of what appeared to be distinctive geographical markings of both a natural and man-made nature. "Have a look, McGee."

The younger agent lowered the camera and looked over. "You're right, but a map of what?"

"I don't know," Paula replied, reaching to take the camera from McGee. He passed it to her so she could snap a few pictures of the map. "The burial place of more fine jewelry like this ring, perhaps?"

"Whatever it is, it's probably what got poor Staff Sergeant Sorrow killed," Tim mused.

"Right," Paula agreed. "Let's get this thing packed away."

Tim gently rolled up the scroll and slipped it inside a protective plastic tube. Once the pair had finished securing the rest of the evidence, they waited for Sally Smith's return with the bank's security camera footage, which they hoped would provide a clear image of the man who claimed to be Warren Sorrow's brother. Upon obtaining it, they finally stepped out of the bank to return to the Navy Yard. They had just crossed under the arched entranceway when a casually-dressed man hurried after them, calling, "Excuse me! Excuse me!"

The agents stopped and turned to face him. "Do you know where I can find Kelleher Avenue?" he asked hopefully. They noticed he was carrying a map of the city, which obviously wasn't helping him find his destination. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a ball cap to shield his eyes and face from the bright sunlight.

"Uh, yeah," Tim replied helpfully, squinting in the sunshine, "north of here, about four blocks."

"Four blocks?" the man repeated.

"Yeah," Tim confirmed.

"Yeah," the man echoed. The agents were about to move on when he stopped them again. "Hey, I'm gonna need that map, too."

The agents stopped in their tracks. "Excuse me?" uttered Tim, though both he and Paula were now instantly aware that this man had not really been looking for directions.

"The map," the man said insistently, "why don't you take a look at that van behind me?"

With a sense of unease rapidly descending upon them, Tim and Paula looked where the now-menacing stranger directed. A brown van sat idling right there, and through a narrow opening in the sliding door, they saw a bearded man crouched behind the barrel of an assault rifle, and it was pointed right at them.

The man extended his hand for the ancient map the agents had obtained from the safety-deposit box. Both Tim and Paula knew they could not risk the armed man in the van opening fire; not with so many civilians around who could easily become collateral damage should a shootout ensue. Innocent lives did not need to be endangered for the sake of a map.

Slowly, Tim slipped his pack off his shoulder, reached inside, and handed over the map.

"All right, now slowly un-holster your weapons," he growled, sliding the rolled-up map into a pocket.

Paula and Tim exchanged uneasy glances, but they complied, wondering what he was going to do. In one smooth motion, the man grabbed for their Sigs and tossed them into the water fountain behind them. The firearms tumbled into the pool with twin splashes. "Now back up!" he commanded.

Knowing they were still under the watchful eye of the man with the assault rifle, the two agents did as they were told. Feeling utterly helpless and played for fools, Tim asked: "Now what?"

"Now, you get wet," the man chortled, and with a sudden lunge, shoved them both backwards into the fountain.

Taken completely off guard, Tim and Paula thrashed around for a few moments, slipping and searching for their weapons in the pool. By the time they recovered them, it was much too late to give chase. The van had accelerated with a squeal of tires and sped away.

"Damnit!" Tim cursed loudly, as several shocked on-lookers gasped at the spectacle they had just witnessed. Whipping out his cell phone to report the brazen theft, Tim was further frustrated to see that the quick plunge in the water had rendered the device completely useless. In vain, Paula had tried to see the van's license plate as it burned rubber fleeing the scene.

"Gibbs is gonna kill me," he groaned.

"You mean _us_," Paula muttered dolefully. "He's gonna kill _us_."

Sopping wet and disgusted with themselves, they stood there for several beats, wondering just how they were going to explain what happened.

* * *

ooo

* * *

When they finally returned to NCIS HQ, Paula changed out her wet clothes and into a pair of NCIS sweats. Fortunately, there were laundry appliances at headquarters, so she dumped her damp clothes into the dryer. Her hair had already started to dry, so she just pulled it back into a ponytail. It struck her suddenly that she was once again obliged to change, just as she had done after escaping from the clutches of Adam O'Neill. The killer had ruined a very nice blouse, and her neatly-laundered slacks had been soiled with dirt and blood. _Maybe I should just make the sweats my regular work clothes of choice_, she thought, and then shook her head at the notion. She imagined that the 'admin weenie' Abby had complained about would most likely take exception to that repeated dress code violation. Sweats were permitted in a pinch, of course, but one could not just simply show up every day for work dressed in gym clothes. Plus, they weren't the most flattering attire she could think of. The sweater would certainly make it extremely difficult for Tony to see her choice of bra, but Paula hadn't yet decided whether that was necessarily a bad thing.

"Time to face the music," she grumbled to herself, knowing she could only forestall telling Gibbs what had happened outside the bank for so long. She had just stepped into the squad room when she saw Tim standing in front of Gibbs, apologizing on behalf of both of them for their failure to stop the heist. Paula felt a touch of shame. Tim should not have had to face the dragon alone. She was at Tim's side in seconds, anyway, just to let the junior agent know they were in solidarity. But to her surprise, Gibbs did not explode.

"It wasn't your fault," Gibbs stated calmly. "They used us." He stood up and paced away from his desk to look at the plasma screen, which was displaying the bank security camera footage. "Used us to get into that safety deposit box for them."

The two relieved agents followed. "Well, he knew exactly what he wanted," commented Tim. "All he asked for was the map."

Gibbs turned to fix his gaze on Tim. "Map?" he repeated. "What map? Map of what, McGee?"

"We're, uh, not really sure, Boss," McGee stammered, "but I'm sure we could probably figure it out once we look at the photos we took before it was stolen."

Tony overheard the whole exchange, and could not resist butting in. "Maybe it's a treasure map, Probie! You know, like gold, silver, diamonds…"

Gibbs looked over at him, clearly annoyed. "It wasn't from one of your dumb-ass movies, DiNozzo."

"Sorry," Tony quickly quipped.

Paula felt like rolling her eyes, but she stopped herself. Instead, she went directly for the camera case, thankful that their interloper had not also dumped the backpack into the water, and thankful he was too much in a hurry to even consider that they would have taken pictures of the map. She quietly went about uploading the pertinent images to her desktop computer, just waiting to cue them up on the plasma once they were finished reviewing the bank security images.

In the meantime, Tim had clicked on the remote for the plasma. "We need to find this guy," he stated, indicating a still image of a man inside the Northern Virginia Savings and Loan. "Claimed he was Staff Sergeant Sorrow's brother."

"I might have a name for him," Tony commented, jiggling a paper print-out. "Been researching the words from Sorrow's farewell message. 'Oxbow' and 'Kearns'."

"'Oxbow' is the name on the map," Tim said in recognition.

"The other name might be his," Tony supposed, handing the paper over to his boss. "Judd Kearns, a member of the same Civil War club our dead staff sergeant belonged to."

"Get an address?" asked Gibbs, who was scrutinizing the lists on the paper.

"Yeah," Tony replied enigmatically, "but he's not there."

Gibbs looked up into Tony's face, and saw the younger agent was enjoying the fact that he knew something Gibbs didn't. After a few beats, Tony capitulated. "The club is on their way to Manassas Battlefield Park for a re-enactment. Should be there this afternoon."

The senior agent now turned his attention to McGee. "What else do you remember about the map?"

"Here, Gibbs," Paula called out, switching the plasma feed so her computer was connected. "These are the pictures we took of the map when we got it out of the safety-deposit box."

The images flashed up for everyone to see. They could identify a bridge crossing a river or stream, the name 'Oxbow', and a Confederate flag in the bottom right-hand corner, among other things.

"McGee, you and Abby figure out what this is a map of," Gibbs ordered, since the map itself clearly gave no indication of what it was supposed to depict.

"On it, Boss," Tim said, and clicked a few keystrokes on Paula's computer to transfer the files down to Abby's lab.

A short time later, Paula was in her newly-dried clothes, waiting for word on what Abby and Tim might have turned up. Gibbs had just returned from meeting with them along with Ducky and Dr. Elaine Burns, whom Ducky had called in to consult on the ring they had found with the hand. Upon seeing the photos of the map, however, Dr. Burns had volunteered to assist them in tracking down the location. She had surmised that 'Oxbow' most likely referred to a once-prominent Virginia family whose mansion had been in Manassas at one time before its destruction.

"Boss," Tony announced upon seeing Gibbs, "his club checked in with the park rangers. Judd Kearns is there now. Are we rolling?"

"Yup," came Gibbs' affirmative reply. "Gear up."

The four agents readied their weapons, grabbed backpacks, and hustled after their boss. Doctors Mallard and Burns also squeezed into the elevator with them, and there was an air of excitement that filled the cramped space.

Out on the simulated battlefield, men dressed as soldiers in period costumes fired muskets and canons at each other. The cacophony made it difficult to have a conversation at times, and smoke drifted across the fields from the multiple ordnances.

"Bring back memories for you, Tony?" asked Tim, amidst the cries of 'reloading!' and 'fire!' from the re-enactors.

Paula watched to see Tony's reaction to the question, but he was a good sport this time, and shared an anecdote. "You know what little Anthony DiNozzo's job was during these re-enactments? I would carry around a bucket so these guys could take a dump in it. They called me their 'little poo boy'."

Tim scrunched up his nose in distaste, and Paula felt herself sympathizing with the little child forced to participate in such a demeaning exercise.

"Kearns is out here, somewhere, dressed as a Union sergeant," Gibbs cut in, looking at Tony and Tim. "You two: with me. Paula, accompany Ducky and Dr. Burns. See if you can identify any landmarks on the map."

Dr. Burns was holding an enlarged printout of the evidence photo taken of the map, and Paula and Ducky gathered around her to get a better look.

"Where do you want to start looking, Dr. Burns?" asked Paula, trying to shove aside the thought that Gibbs had essentially stuck her on babysitting duty – again. She recalled another time she had been forced to watch over a bunch of partying teenagers until their parents came for them. It hadn't been completely unbearable, but Paula had certainly considered it punishment of sorts for not having done things the way Gibbs would have when it came to filing reports.

The forensic anthropologist was looking at the printout thoughtfully, then stared for a few beats across the large expanse of 'battlefield' that stretched before them. "By the orientation of the map, I suggest we start near some of my old dig sites to the north."

"Unless…" Ducky murmured. He took the paper. "May I? During times of war, mapmakers often add terrain, or change the declination of north and south, in order to confuse the enemy – in case it fell into wrong hands. Now, what troubles me about this map is this Confederate flag in the corner."

Paula saw where he was pointing. She had noticed it earlier, too, and she now knew why it looked slightly odd. "It's unfurled in the opposite direction of how most flags would be," she said.

"Precisely," Ducky said. He rotated the paper 180 degrees. "I think we should start looking to the south."

With that lead, the trio began their hike. After about ten minutes, they had left behind the relatively smooth terrain of the field and into a wooded area with some steep inclines and slopes not exactly suited for a casual stroll.

"Agent Cassidy, perhaps we should wait for Agent Gibbs," huffed Ducky, but Paula would not be dissuaded. Gibbs had ordered them to identify any landmarks on the map, and that was precisely what she intended to do. This was one assignment she was _not_ going to screw up.

"I promise we won't go too far, Dr. Mallard," Paula called back, "but Gibbs wants us to locate some landmarks, so we're going to find some."

The medical examiner was straining to keep up. "All right, not too deep into the woods, if you don't mind," he breathed loudly with exertion. "And _please_… call me 'Ducky'."

"All right," she said, "'Ducky'."

Paula smiled slightly at this request. It made her feel better to know that he wanted her to abandon the formal, yet distant manner of addressing him. It made her feel as if he was welcoming her into his world.

She'd gone a few more paces up a rise between some trees when she thought she recognized one of those elusive landmarks they'd been tasked to find. "Ducky; Dr. Burns… look: I think this is the trail from the map. See?"

Dr. Burns, however, was quick to nix the idea. "I doubt it," she snapped, "the topography's completely different today. If anything, we might have better luck starting near the site where the Oxbow mansion used to stand."

But Paula was undaunted. Perhaps it was what Gibbs would call her 'gut' kicking in, but she felt, somehow, deep in the pit of her stomach, that she was on to something. "We can always try that spot next, Dr. Burns. For now, I'd like to see where this trail leads."

Dr. Burns made no further protest, and Paula strutted ahead on the dirt trail that eventually leveled off and led out of the wooded area. Presently, they came across a graveyard, bordered by overgrown foliage, trees, and enclosed by slanting, rusted wrought iron gates.

"It wasn't an 'X' on the map," Ducky said, pointing a finger, "it was a cross. This must be the place."

The whine of a power tool broke through the peace of the wilderness. Such an incongruous noise put Paula on instant alert. "Ducky…" she said softly, "I need you to wait here with Dr. Burns. Call Gibbs right now, and tell him he might want to hurry."

She crept towards the area the sound was most likely coming from, drawing her weapon as a precaution. The high-pitched squeal of the power tool punctuated the air again, and Paula approached as stealthily as possible, keeping her head low amongst the brush and vegetation.

Up ahead, she spied a man dressed as a Union soldier mounted on a horse. Her mind flashed back to earlier in the day when she and Tim had been threatened in front of the bank. Paula was certain the man in the saddle was the same man who had held them at gunpoint from inside his van.

Just a few paces away from the horse, Paula saw a second man, dressed casually, but wearing work gloves. He was the one operating the power tool, and he was using it to break the seal of a cast iron casket. A mound of dirt was piled up next to him; clearly the grave had been freshly-dug.

"We need to hurry this up," the bearded man urged impatiently.

"Yeah, that's it," the second man said, holding up the last of the pins that had secured the casket lid. Instantly, Paula recognized the timbre of his voice. He was beyond a shadow of a doubt the man who had stolen the map from them. She paused by a tree, gun at the ready, willing Gibbs to hurry. She didn't want to do anything without being certain of having backup.

The bearded man dismounted and went over to help his partner remove the heavy lid. They grunted with the effort, but managed to finally shift it away.

"They buried these things so the South could rise again," the bearded man said, "and now they are all mine!"

Paula could not see exactly what he was talking about, as their bodies obstructed her view, but she inferred from the context of his conversation that he had found a cache of Civil War-era weapons.

"There's gotta be fifty of them in here!" the map thief marvelled. "At thirty grand a pop, that's a real nice chunk of change!"

Upon hearing this, Paula stood, irresolute. If she barged in on them now, she might take them by surprise, and bring a halt to what was a clear case of grave robbery. Could she risk letting them slip away, as they surely would if she did not intervene? And where was Gibbs? If he had hurried like Paula had told Ducky to tell him to do, he should have been here by now… She was about to make a move when a voice shouted out: "Drop your gun, Agent Cassidy, or Dr. Mallard dies."

Paula was shocked that the voice issuing the order was that of Dr. Elaine Burns. She chanced a look behind her, and saw the woman was indeed pointing a handgun at Ducky.

"Do it, or I swear I'll kill him," Dr. Burns seethed.

"I knew there was a reason I blocked you out of my mind," Ducky muttered.

The two men who Paula now realized were in cahoots with Dr. Burns stared back, equally shocked at the unexpected turn of events, but satisfied that they were very close to making off with their loot.

Paula stretched out her arm and let her Sig dangle between her fingertips as a show of submission. At thirty thousand dollars per antique weapon, she did some quick mental math. One-point-five million split three ways was a very lucrative payoff… what did it matter if it meant that one Navy Staff Sergeant, one NCIS agent, and one medical examiner were bumped off in the process?

_I nearly died last week_, Paula thought angrily. _Now, this woman looks like she won't hesitate to kill me if I come between her and those weapons... but if I can just stall long enough until Gibbs gets here…_

"I said _drop your weapon,_ Agent Cassidy, to the _ground_!"

Paula made a motion of lowering her gun to the grass at her feet. "And _those_ weapons," she said, "pretty big payoff for you, if I'm not mistaken. Were you going to cut Staff Sergeant out of the jackpot, or did you just kill him before he even knew what was buried here? I mean, _you _probably knew from the start what the map was for, but Sergeant Sorrow…"

Dr. Burns scoffed. "He found Oxbow's casket and the map," she said. "But the bleeding heart do-gooder actually wanted to turn them over to a museum."

"The only mistake we made was killing him before we got the map," the bearded man chimed in.

Paula felt her stomach drop. If they were being this glib about their crimes, they clearly had zero intention now of letting her and Ducky live, if there had even been a chance of that in the first place.

"You two," Dr. Burns chirped, "are going to be the unfortunate victims of scavengers."

Paula heard this 'plan' for their demise, and was infuriated. She was nearly to the ground now, her gun out of play just so Dr. Burns did not feel threatened.

She saw Dr. Burns shove Ducky towards her, and in that moment of diverted attention, Paula reached for the borrowed Ka-Bar and hurled it towards her would-be killer with deadly precision.

A single shot rang out, shattering the calm of the afternoon, but the discharged bullet was wasted. Gibbs and Tony, alerted by the sound of the errant gunshot from Dr. Burns' pistol, rushed to the scene. When they arrived, they saw Ducky kneeling by the unmoving body of Dr. Burns, Paula holding the two surviving members of the grave robbers under close watch.

"You two seem to be making a habit of missing all the action," Paula quipped, when she saw the other two agents staring at the knife protruding from the chest of the villainous Dr. Burns. "Next time, fellas, I'd prefer it if you showed up _before_ crazy or greedy people try to kill me, okay?"

* * *

ooo

* * *

Later, after they'd taken one Jared Kearns, Brett Willis, and Milton Grant into custody, processed the evidence, and written up reports, Paula leaned back in her chair, reflecting on the day's events.

Ducky had stopped by earlier to thank her for her actions that afternoon that had resulted in his life being spared, and she had told him she would do again in a heartbeat. It hadn't escaped Director Sheppard's attention that it was the second time in as many weeks that Paula had been forced to kill someone in the line of duty, and offered her the opportunity to avail herself of the agency shrinks should the need arise. Paula respectfully declined the offer for the present moment.

Tony had gone home after she turned down his offer to go out for drinks somewhere; after all, he figured, she probably needed to relax after having her life threatened again. She'd replied that it was more Ducky's life that had been in more immediate danger, not her own, so she was fine.

Tim had likewise gone home after helping Abby with some work in the lab.

Now, with the sun long gone beneath the horizon and with the overhead lights switched off, Paula stood and crossed the floor to Caitlin Todd's desk. She figured that someone must have been keeping it free of dust, because in the month and-a-half that it had not been used, it was surprisingly clean. Aside from the usual office accoutrements, she saw an artist's sketchpad amongst some papers. Feeling like an intruder, Paula started to flip through the pages. Even in the low light, she was impressed by the drawings she saw. Kate, she realized, really had a talent for drawing amazing likenesses of her subjects. There was one of a smiling Gibbs (she wondered how often Kate actually got to see the smile in order to record it so accurately), another of a laid-back Tony, one of Abby, a three-quarter view of the bespectacled Ducky, and a really nice one of Tim in profile.

She sat there for a while, thinking about the two occasions she had met Kate professionally. She had liked Kate; felt a certain kinship with her, partly because they were both women in a pre-dominantly man's world, and because they loved their work; were driven to prove themselves worthy of the call to serve the members of the U.S. Navy.

_I'm sorry I didn't get to know you better, Kate_, Paula thought sadly. _I'd like to think we would have been good friends if we had been given the chance_. _It feels wrong that you're gone. Your team… they try not to show it, but they miss you. Sometimes, the grief bleeds through these tiny cracks in the walls they've put up, but the pain is still there, just the same. _

Paula almost didn't notice Gibbs' arrival until he was right in front of her and was reaching to snap on the lamp on Kate's desk. He peered down at her silently, and she held his gaze, almost defiantly, daring him to order her back to that other desk she so desperately wanted to shun. She didn't know what she would do if he did; she just hoped he would finally let it go, and let her in, even if it meant letting go of one of the last physical attachments to Kate.

_But no,_ Paula thought, _it's not the last thing…_

"Kate was a great agent, Gibbs," Paula said softly. "I liked her, and I respected her. I know you handpicked her… and I know I've been thrust upon you, but… I'm here now, and I hope I _am_ finally part of the team… Gibbs, I don't think Kate would have objected to my being here…"

Again, Gibbs maintained his silence. Paula breathed out slowly, not sure how to gauge this mute man before her. She tried to read his expression, but it was impassive, revealing nothing to her.

"It was probably presumptuous of me, but…" she said haltingly, "but I found this on Kate's desk."

She handed the sketchbook over to Gibbs, and he took it from her. "I think it's something she would have wanted you to have."

Without a word, Gibbs walked over to his desk with the sketchpad. He switched on his own lamp, and began flipping through the pages. She watched as he tried to mask his emotions at the sight of the drawings, knowing he was remembering the moments in time when Kate had probably whipped out a pencil in order to capture a moment she found captivating. He stared at the sketches for a long time.

Paula, suddenly realizing Gibbs had not banished her to that other desk, decided this just very well might mean things were copacetic. Maybe she was learning to read Leroy Jethro Gibbs, after all.

"Good night, Boss," she said, as she rose from her desk, switching off the lamp as she went.

* * *

**END?**

**Thanks for reading! I know Paula was a minor character and that a lot of people prefer 'TIVA', but I hope this was entertaining. Con-crit is appreciated; flames are not. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My take on what might have happened in the following episodes.**

* * *

_**Honor Code/Under Covers**_

* * *

**It wasn't like she _owed_ him, or anything,** but Paula felt it was probably something she should have done a long time ago; maybe just to thank him for being a supportive partner; maybe to make up for the times she'd turned him down, or when she'd ignored his calls for the simple reason that she was pissed at Gibbs. So when Tony found out that the beautiful Monica he was wooing was actually Monica-the-married, his plans for a romantic dinner at _Valentino's _looked to be finished, that is, until Paula suggested the two of them use the reservations instead. (She made sure Gibbs was nowhere around when she made the suggestion, of course… didn't want to even smell like they were breaking his sacrosanct Rule #12.)

"Really?" Tony asked in reply to her suggestion, a dumbfounded look on his face, like it was the last thing he was expecting from her.

"Really," Paula confirmed. "I'll even buy. After all, we never did go out the night I got back into Norfolk…" She let her voice fade to silence. Mentioning that time and place could potentially scrape open the scab still forming over the recent wound inflicted when Ari killed Kate.

Tony did an admirable job masking his hurt at the memory of why that particular dinner they were supposed to have shared never materialized. "You're absolutely right, Paula," he said, drumming his desk. "I'll have you know I was really looking forward to that date."

"Good," Paula stated as she snapped off her desk lamp. "We'll be fashionably late, but something tells me you're in tight with the owner and they'll hold your table."

"You're absolutely right again, Paula," Tony confirmed as he crossed his index and middle fingers to indicate exactly how 'tight' he was with the titular restaurateur. "We're like _this!_"

"Just so we're clear, DiNozzo: this is not a _date_ per se," she said, eyeing him sternly, "Gibbs would turf both of us if it was."

"Not if he didn't know about it," Tony replied, suggestively waggling his eyebrows. "Who's gonna tell him?"

"Somehow, I doubt much gets past Gibbs' eagle-eyed gaze," Paula countered, "even if we were stupid enough to tell him."

"Three for three, Paula. You're right again. Gibbs does seem to know everything…" Tony had a far-off, bemused expression on his face. "Okay, we're agreed: this is _not_ a date. But make sure you at least pretend you're into me when we're in public. After all," he breathed haughtily, "I have a reputation to uphold."

Paula stifled a laugh. "Not a problem," she said with a teasing smile, "I'm very good at pretending. In fact, people seldom know the difference..."

Tony's grin was ravenous.

In spite of her previous reticence, Paula found it refreshing to be out with Tony. She followed him through the light night traffic to Valentino's (another safeguard in her favor that this was _not_ a date) and allowed the valet to take the keys to her leased Honda Civic. Tony, however, took his time explaining to the poor attendant that he'd not be alive the next day if anything untoward happened to his 1966 Ford Mustang.

It was twenty minutes after nine by the time they finally entered the reception area, and true to his word, Tony's reservation was honored. Paula very carefully observed the interior, and felt a little under-dressed in her pink-and-white striped blouse and casual black slacks compared to the more formally-attired diners. When she voiced her concern aloud, Tony quickly assuaged her fears. "You look fine, Paula," he said gently, taking a chance by taking her hand in his and applying a very gentlemanly kiss. "You look more than fine. In fact, you could have worn your NCIS sweats and you'd still outshine every woman in here."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time, Tony," she said, trying to ignore the fact she enjoyed the touch of his lips on her hand. She also tried to pretend she wasn't flattered by his compliment, but found she liked that, too.

The maître d', a spare, middle-aged man with an embarrassingly obvious comb-over, spotted them and hurried over. "Ah, Signor DiNozzo," he called with a beaming smile, "you are here! Allow me to show you both to your places. Come this way, please, please!"

"Thanks, Guglio," Tony said heartily as they were seated in a cosy corner table away from the kitchen, menus supplied almost instantly. Tony didn't even bother to glance at the wine list. "Guglio, start us off with a Pinot Noir, _per favore_."

"_Bene_," he said with a slight bow of his head, and was off.

"You should try the _pollo alla Milanese,_" Tony uttered to Paula as she perused the dinner entrees. "It's legendary. Or, if you're in the mood for pasta, then I'd recommend the fettuccine with leg of lamb ragu."

"Hmm…" Paula murmured reflectively, "they do both sound good… though right now I think I could eat a whole _rack_ of lamb. I'm starving."

Guglio arrived with the wine, and expertly poured two glasses for his guests. Tony, playing the connoisseur, swirled the drink around before taking a whiff and a sip.

"_Perfetto_," Tony declared, nodding with satisfaction. Paula did likewise, and decided she agreed with Tony's assessment. A mollified Guglio swept the menus off the table with a flourish and departed after the two agents conferred that they'd both like to order the fettuccine.

Paula sat back and cast another look around, this time with a more relaxed eye. Several couples and some families occupied the other tables around them. Overhead chandeliers set to a low level provided muted illumination, while tall candles in ornate holders on every table cast flickering shadows on the cream-colored walls and brightened the faces of the diners. The overall effect was one of an old-fashioned, quiet, intimate ambience; even the conversations around them were maintained at a polite, unobtrusive volume.

Tony cleared his throat, and Paula returned her glance to him. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said, raising his wineglass. Paula did likewise. "To Special Agent Paula Cassidy: who is a very welcome new addition to the team."

"Thank you," she said, feeling herself blushing slightly at the sentiment behind his toast. They touched glasses and both took a long sip of the wine.

"I'd like to make a toast, as well," she stated after swallowing, again raising her glass, "to present company… and to the memory of Caitlin Todd. She was a great agent, and she will always be missed."

In the ensuing silence, Paula found herself mesmerized by the way the flame from the candles reflected in the hazel of Tony's eyes. He blinked at her and smiled when he noticed her scrutiny. She remembered the first time she thought just how nice those eyes were, back when they were dancing in that little bar in GITMO. She'd always found hazel eyes to be particularly attractive, and Tony's were no exception. Paula had known from the first moment he'd shown up at _El Floridita_ that he'd been sent there by Gibbs as part of the investigation into Sa'id's death, but she had also known he wasn't telling a lie when he said: "_You turn me on". _She just wasn't overly eager to jump into a 'relationship' that would amount to nothing more than a casual fling; that, and she preferred not to get involved with colleagues, especially ones who were investigating her. In spite of those rules of engagement, Tony had been different from all the other men she'd ever encountered. Yes, there had been a swagger about him, the kind that comes from a man who knows he's attractive, and isn't afraid to exploit his looks to his fullest advantage; on the other hand, Paula had also sensed a certain vulnerability behind that swagger: some hidden insecurity he would never be comfortable revealing, not even to someone he was willing to be involved with. Paula realized he was very charming, and he was fun to be around, especially since he knew how to keep up with her on the dance floor. Those very disparate aspects about him, coupled with the fact he really was a very skilled investigator, intrigued her. As a bonus, he knew how to play the game as well as she did.

Guglio appeared at that moment with a basket of warm bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

"Thanks," Tony said, and the headwaiter was off again.

"I don't usually like to fill up on carbs before the main course, but like I said, I'm starving," Paula mentioned, as she reached for the basket and pulled off a piece of the bread.

"It's very good bread," said Tony, as he took a large piece as well.

"Well, they do say that hunger is the best sauce," Paula quipped, as she dipped her bread into some of the olive oil. She savored the chewy texture and light but slightly crispy crust, just as she liked it. "That _is_ good," she acknowledged.

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Tony, chewing his own portion.

"Sorry about _Monica_," Paula said sincerely, thinking about Tony's failed date and how much effort he'd put into impressing the woman he'd been bragging about. He'd even gone so far as to buy her some intimate apparel for her birthday.

"Yeah," Tony said with a despondent sigh, "she was hot. What is it you girls always say about men? All the good ones are either 'gay or taken'?"

Paula smirked. "Pretty much," she confirmed.

Tony looked at her. "Well, sometimes I think all the hot women are either 'gay or taken'."

"Didn't know you were interested in something long-term, Tony," Paula said, with a hint of surprise.

"Who said I was?"

"You mean it doesn't bother you that you can't find an attractive woman to settle down with?"

"No," Tony countered, "it means I can't find an attractive woman who isn't attached to a jealous husband or boyfriend. How's _Bob_, by the way?"

Paula shook her head. "You're _so_ gullible, you know that?"

"Ha! Gullible about what?" Tony retorted playfully. "You're the gullible one. I _let_ you fantasize about a fictitious boyfriend with expensive tastes in cars rather than have you come clean about your serious acne problem. Was 'pizza-face' one of your nicknames in high school? It has a nice alliterative ring to it: 'Pizza-Face-Paula'."

"There's nothing to 'come clean' about, DiNozzo," Paula said airily, slipping into banter mode in earnest. "I _did_ say I was on the pill for my complexion. You just didn't want to let it go. And come on: you were totally jealous at the thought that 'Bob' had a red Ferrari and private sky box seats for the Redskins games."

Tony was up for the challenge. "If we're talking about made-up boyfriends," he said intently, "make sure he's like an underwear model or something instead of a lawyer the next time you invent one, 'cause as you know, I hate lawyers. I wouldn't care if he owned a fleet of red Ferraris. A lawyer is the last person I'd be jealous of."

Paula pretended to be taking notes. "Memo to myself," she muttered thoughtfully, "find a sexy Calvin Klein underwear a model with killer abs to make DiNozzo jealous…"

"Speaking of underwear," Tony purred, "did you wear your Victoria's Secret bra tonight?"

"I _only_ wear Victoria's Secret, Tony," Paula replied coyly, "or hadn't you already noticed?"

Tony's laugh was deep, and he allowed his eyes to drift southwards.

"Did you forget your X-ray glasses?" asked Paula innocently. "It's too bad, because I won't be leaning over to help you get a better look this time."

Feigning disappointment, Tony's mouth turned down. "That's okay, Paula," he said finally, looking back up at her face. "I've still got a very clear picture in my head from the last time."

"Which reminds me," Paula said, "Kate once told me you're not all that fond of any kind of underwear. Or was the weather simply too hot in Cuba to cover up when you went to bed..?"

Candlelight flashed against Tony's teeth as he grinned. He was instantly reminded of the morning Gibbs and Kate came barging into his room at GITMO when he'd been spooked by an iguana, but he wasn't about to let on to Paula that it hadn't been one of his finer moments. "What else did Kate tell you about me? Because there are some stories I could tell you about her…"

"She warned me once that you were a pathetic skirt-chaser," Paula commented dryly, "but I think I mentioned that already."

"Mm-mm," Tony replied, "you didn't mention the 'skirt-chaser' part the first time… only that Kate said I was 'truly, truly pathetic'… But now that you've reminded me, it does sound like something Kate would have said. She never did think very highly of my dating methods."

"Oh, come on, Tony," Paula said encouragingly, "you know she was being facetious. It was just her way of trying to protect you. And me."

"From what?"

"From Gibbs, obviously," Paula replied. "You know: that ridiculous 'Rule #12'."

"Oh, right," Tony mumbled. His expression was pensive.

At that moment, another member of the wait staff arrived with two steaming plates of fettuccine. He placed them in front of Paula and Tony and wished them a good meal.

"Well, dig in," Tony entreated, and started in on his own entrée.

As they dined, their conversation turned away from personal matters to recent events at work. One case had been about an amorous petty officer who'd convinced another officer to switch identities with him, and the one they'd just closed had involved the wife of a marine who'd been making live 'adult' web videos.

"You know, we probably should have realized it was a 'trick knife' far sooner," Paula said, turning reflective for a moment. "It would have helped our investigation if we weren't fixated on thinking a murder had actually taken place on camera. That kind of misdirection hurt us."

"Yeah, but we still nailed 'em in the end, anyway, so what're you worried about?" Tony asked between mouthfuls.

Paula put down her cutlery and mulled her answer. "I don't know. I guess every time we miss something crucial, I get this feeling that we've screwed up – that _I've_ screwed up… and Gibbs isn't a fan of screw-ups. I've already got plenty of those on my record for him to hold against me."

"Hey, lighten up, 'Debbie Downer'," Tony said, lifting his glass of wine. "We solved the case. End of story. Gibbs has nothing to complain about, least of all you. Nobody screwed up anything. You've got nothing to prove here, Paula."

She looked at him for a few several seconds, and from his expression knew he was being sincere about his assessment of the situation. Feeling heartened by his efforts to bolster her spirits, she picked up her knife and fork again. "Thanks for the pep talk, Tony," Paula said at length, a little more upbeat, "but it's probably going to take a little while, I think, to get used to Gibbs… and his _rules_."

The two agents parted company after a very enjoyable meal which was followed up with a dessert of tiramisu washed down with espresso. They thanked each other politely for the company since it was emphatically _not_ a date. Driving home, it crossed Paula's mind that in spite of Tony's skirt-chaser, frat-boy reputation, he could still conduct himself accordingly in a casual, social situation. Maybe it had everything to do with Gibbs' rule about dating co-workers, but Paula was starting to come to the conclusion that there was much more to Anthony DiNozzo than met the eye. It made her wonder why he persisted with the almost puerile behavior when he was quite capable of being an _adult_. She'd only seen hints of the 'serious Tony' when they'd briefly flirted with a relationship prior to her Agent Afloat assignment, but that was all it was – a brief fling, exactly what she'd been trying to avoid when they first met at Guantanamo; a relationship that ended almost as quickly as it began. And now that they were on the same team with a boss who had definite ideas about fraternizing (highly negative ones), Paula figured the opportunities to experience a fun, yet mature Tony in a romantic situation would be nil for the foreseeable future. The realization left her feeling oddly depressed.

Tony had once asked her if she had ever broken a rule, and instead of giving a straight answer, she'd asked him if he had. He had not given a straight answer either, but it had still amounted to a 'yes' – if the risk was worth it. Was breaking Rule #12 to get to know Anthony DiNozzo better worth the risk of antagonizing Gibbs along with risking her future with NCIS? Paula didn't know if she was willing to explore that question, lest she come to an answer she didn't want to accept.

* * *

They'd barely finished lunch in the bullpen when Gibbs' familiar voice barked that they were needed on a missing-persons case at the Coleman Park Carousel in Arlington. It had been a slow morning, and by tacit agreement, Paula and Tony had not breathed a single word about the dinner they'd shared. She passed it off as just a trick of her imagination, but every time Gibbs happened to walk by, Paula thought he was eying both her and Tony with suspicion.

"Who's missing?" asked McGee brightly.

"Lieutenant Commander Alex Tanner," Gibbs answered, "he disappeared an hour ago. His six-year-old son called it in. DiNozzo, you're driving. The kid's alone in the park, waiting for us, so make it fast."

"Copy that, boss," Tony said, catching the keys when Gibbs tossed them, and the quartet of agents hurried for the elevator.

On the drive to the park, Paula's thoughts turned to the child they were about to meet. _He must be scared_, _but at least he was smart enough to know to call NCIS_. Dealing with children was not something that happened often on the job, at least in her experience. Her last two postings had been decidedly devoid of minors, and the only recent interaction with kids had been with her nieces and nephews. Gibbs, she noticed, seemed more reserved than usual; more intense, and for a split second she was worried that his usual gruff nature was likely to traumatize an already traumatized child. She half-expected Gibbs to ask her to question the six-year-old when they arrived, figuring he might think that a kid might respond better to a feminine presence, but to her surprise, he sent Tony.

"McGee; Cassidy: check with the park security to see if there's any security camera footage we can get," Gibbs ordered.

"On it, boss," they replied. Truth be told, Paula was a little relieved to be sent on that particular errand; emotional kids were not her speciality.

In the beginning, Paula hadn't thought much of the case. The boy, Zach, seemed to be a level-headed child, if not a little precocious, but certainly not prone to flights of fancy. His father, however, was probably a different story. From her time as an interrogator at Camp Delta, she had seen all too often how easily deception and cunning worked in favor of the detainees. While everyone painted a positive picture of the missing Lieutenant Commander Tanner, there was a good chance the man had betrayed his country and sold out what he knew of a top-secret project known as 'Honor'. If one man could order the assassination of one of his sons-in-law in a prison in Cuba, it wasn't a stretch to think that another man could turn traitor and abandon his son, if the price was right.

By the time things wrapped, though, Paula had been called upon to utilize her interrogation skills honed at GITMO to obtain crucial information from a colleague of Tanner's, and she'd been happy to admit that her initial thoughts about Tanner had been wrong. Just seeing the joy and relief on the faces of father and son had been moving, giving Paula a reason to be grateful she'd broken Q and R Security staffer Laura Osgood. She'd managed to compel the traitorous woman to reveal where Tanner was being tortured for vital information about 'Honor', and his rescue had come just in time.

Later, McGee had wanted to know exactly what she'd done to extract the information from an initially un-cooperative Ms. Osgood. Paula simply answered that casually mentioning how she'd made Guantanamo Bay detainees cry for their mothers had been enough.

Paula was dozing off to sleep at the end of the day when the thought struck her she'd also been wrong about how Gibbs' personality would affect Zach. The child had actually gravitated towards the boss, and for his part, Gibbs had been wonderful with the way he entertained him. He was never once condescending or childish; he treated the boy as if he were fully capable of understanding what was going on. The existence of Gibbs' soft side surprised her. It made Paula wonder how Gibbs got to be so good with children, unlike Tony, who quite frankly, tried much too hard to impress the six-year-old. Gibbs simply blowing up a latex glove had been enough to amuse Zach. Maybe Gibbs also had rules about how to treat children, and if so, Paula could admit they worked in this situation.

* * *

"Ooooh, wow…"

"That… feels… wonderful…"

"That's it. Right there. Ohh… Yes!"

"Don't stop… oh… yeah… that's just amazing… Ohhh…"

* * *

"We have _got_ to do that again sometime," Tony groaned, sprawled next to Paula on a queen-sized bed, sheets tangled.

"I agree, darling," Paula replied, her face turned towards him.

"I mean, I've done that before, but this was the best yet," Tony said in an awed voice.

"Didn't I tell you a couples massage was just what we needed, 'Jean-Paul'?" Paula sighed, draping her arm across Tony's bare chest.

"Yes you did, 'Sophie'," Tony answered, placing his hand over hers, "it was a great idea."

Paula felt the slow, steady throb of her partner's heartbeat and thought about the high-risk undercover operation they'd just begun to undertake. Her mind was racing like an Indy 500 car on its final lap around the racetrack, and she was pretty sure her pulse would be as well, if not for the relaxing massage she'd just enjoyed with Tony. The five-star hotel's masseuses were very skilled, and for a while, Paula had allowed her fears about the dangers of assuming the identity of a dead contract killer to float away.

When the bodies of Jean-Paul and Sophie Ranier had been delivered to NCIS HQ earlier, Director Shepard had wasted little time pulling Tony and Paula into a conference to advise them of the situation. Killed in a car accident on the way to Kuwait International Airport two days prior, the Raniers were Canadian citizens, but had been found to be carrying fake U.S. passports, two first-class tickets to D.C., and reservations at the Barclay hotel. Their stay coincided with the Marine Corps birthday celebrations, and the pressing concern was that one of the top-level Navy invitees to the big bash was on the Raniers' hit-list.

"So, we're going in as these two?" Paula had asked when they were first 'introduced' to the deceased couple. She had looked down at the corpse of Sophie Ranier and had been mildly disturbed by the damage to the woman's body inflicted in the car accident. _I don't even look like her_, Paula thought, but her misgivings went beyond the mere lack of resemblance.

"That's right," Gibbs had replied, "you go in tonight. Ducky's on his way here; so is Abby. When they know more, they'll feed you the information."

"How do we even know they're in D.C. for a job?" Tony had inquired, seeming to be equally uncomfortable with the assignment, though the manner in which he chose to phrase the question neatly deflected his own disquiet.

"We don't," Gibbs answered in clipped tones, "but we need to cover our bases."

Paula couldn't shake the consternation that had seized her. "We're taking a big risk here," she grumbled, unlike Tony, giving full voice to her fears, "we know next to nothing about these people, or what they were up to."

"Cassidy, if you have a problem with this-" Gibbs started, sending her a steely, squinty-eyed look that made her want to back-pedal.

"No, I'm good," she said hastily, looking to Tony and hoping to see more confidence in his eyes – anything solid so that she could feel some modicum of security. Undercover work was not something she was used to. "Let's do this."

"Sure thing, 'Sophie'," Tony said, giving her an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. After all, you're the only real Canuck on the team, _'eh'_?"

Paula scoffed at his attempts at mimicking the much-parodied impression of a quintessential Canadian 'word'. "Okay, yes my mother gave birth to me in Toronto while my dad was working there, but I was all of three months old when we returned stateside. I've never been back to Canada."

It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to start listing a multitude of stereotypical Canadian phrases and behaviors to further tease her, but thought better of it when he caught sight of Gibbs' glare of impatience.

"Get packing," Gibbs commanded. "Take the Raniers' suitcases and use 'em for your own stuff. You're expected at the Barclay right now. Take every precaution you two, because it's likely you're going to be under surveillance from the moment you get there."

"Understood, boss," Tony said with a quick nod.

"Got it," Paula had responded, though she knew she was still not remotely comfortable with going in so blindly. She figured it would be like navigating a minefield, and then there was the issue of sharing a swanky hotel room with Tony, all the while pretending to be his wife…

They'd both headed to their own apartments to pack and change outfits before meeting back at the Navy Yard, where McGee played chauffer for them, bearing them to the hotel in a town car. Paula was determined not to let her nervousness interfere with her ability to function as a professional, but it was still an effort to keep the butterflies in her stomach from beating a frantic rhythm of panic. She took a number of deep breaths as McGee wound them through heavy traffic, going over in her mind exactly what was at stake. The source of her anxiety, she realized, hinged completely on the lack of information. They were working on too many assumptions; too much guesswork, but on some level, Paula knew that going in undercover was the best chance NCIS had of figuring out what the Raniers had been hired to do.

Unexpectedly, she felt a warm, strong hand encircle one of her cold, clammy ones. She looked over at a smiling Tony, who was trying to capture her attention. "It's going to okay, Paula. Trust me. I've got your back."

"Thanks," she said weakly, mustering a fragile smile of her own. She cleared her throat and gave his hand a squeeze. It seemed almost silly. _What's happening? _Paula mused. _I'm the more senior agent here_. _I shouldn't need Tony to reassure me._ "You're right. It's going to be okay. And just so you know, I have your back too, every step of the way."

Tony's smile deepened. "That's good," he said, looking relieved, "because I plan on stretching this one out for as long as possible. After all, the Barclay is a five-star hotel. Come on! It's going to be great! It'll certainly be better than the last time we were together in a hotel room…"

Paula caught Tim sending them a quizzical look in the rear-view mirror after that exchange. _It's not what you think, McGee_, she wanted to say, remembering the unpleasant evening spent 'babysitting' a handful of high school students who had been given free rein with the credit card belonging to Ensign Evan Hayes. She sighed heavily, as that was one moment in her career she tried to avoid thinking about.

_What's past is past,_ she coached herself. _You can't change it. Now forget what happened and focus on being Sophie Ranier._

The concierge greeted them warmly as they approached the grand entrance to the Barclay. Check-in went off without a hitch, and no one questioned their identities when they showed the pieces of identification and credit cards Tim had mocked up for them.

Though they saw no evidence of it, Tony and Paula were still operating under the assumption that they were under immediate surveillance. By whom, they could only guess, but they knew that in the high-stakes game of contract assassinations, there could never be enough caution. In suggesting the couples massage, Paula hoped to provide a convincing enough cover to satisfy any prying eyes and ears that they were indeed the married Jean-Paul and Sophie Ranier. Faking marital relations could be risky, even though she knew Tony would have been ready to go along with such a ruse.

A knock on the door from 'room service' roused them from the almost drunken stupor brought on by the relaxing massage. They both quickly threw on the complimentary _his_ and _hers_ bathrobes. As expected, McGee was there, dressed as a member of the hotel staff with a cart loaded with goodies. Paula admitted him and the cart, which along with champagne and an assortment of cheeses, also bore a bouquet which concealed a camera. Tim also took the opportunity to pass both Tony and Paula a set of earwigs, and went on to shrewdly sweep the hotel room for any listening devices. They kept up with a light banter the whole time, and when Tim discovered a bug, he simply covered it with one of the lids to the tray of cheeses.

Paula felt a quickening of her pulse at Tim's find. _So it's confirmed,_ she thought. _Someone out there is listening; maybe even watching, too._

"If you whisper, it should be okay," McGee said under his breath, after completing his sweep.

Gibbs' voice came on-line as Tony was trying to pull out the cork of the champagne. "_Comfortable, DiNozzo?_" he queried.

"Well, yeah," answered Tony, then, as if he needed to elaborate he added: "I'm workin' on it. Why do you ask?"

"_We're looking at you, Agent DiNozzo_," Director Shepard spoke up. _"… All of you_."

The cork ejected with a loud 'pop', and Tony surreptitiously glanced down. Realizing his robe was wide open, he quickly pulled the sides across his exposed parts. Somewhat embarrassed, he muttered a hasty apology.

"_DiNozzo_," Gibbs chastised, "_What the hell are you doing? You're married assassins. You're not visiting the Playboy mansion_."

"The couples massage was kinda Paula's idea, boss," muttered Tony, still feeling abashed. Paula expected Gibbs to berate her, but the hotel room telephone started to ring, saving her from any accusations or speeches.

"Incoming call," Tony said, turning towards the phone.

"_Have her answer it,_" Jenny instructed.

"Sophie, would you mind answering that while I pour us some champagne?" Tony cooed.

Paula complied quietly, willing her heart to stop hammering in her chest, well aware that this could be from the Raniers' contact.

"Hello?" Paula answered calmly, relieved she had managed to smooth out her rumpled nerves.

The male voice that responded dispensed with pleasantries. "_There's a cell phone in the Bible next to your bed_," it intoned. Paula slid open the drawer and withdrew the Bible; a cell-phone-sized hole had been cut out of the pages of the thick tome. She held it up over her shoulder towards the bouquet camera so back at MTAC, Jenny and Gibbs could see the concealed mobile device.

"I have it," Paula spoke to the unknown man on the other end of the call.

"_Keep it with you at all times_," he advised. "_You have dinner reservations at the hotel dining room at nine o'clock. Don't be late._"

A moment later, Paula was listening to dead air. Her unidentified caller had hung up.

"Who was that, darling?" asked Tony innocently. He had just poured a glass of champagne, and extended it to Paula.

"Uh, it was the hotel… They were confirming our dinner reservation at nine o'clock tonight," Paula ad-libbed. "We'd better get dressed now if we don't want to be late."

* * *

Down in the busy dining room, Paula and Tony took their seats at the table reserved for the Raniers. A pianist tinkled away in a corner at some unidentifiable, benign lounge-music tune. The agents weren't listening; they needed to keep their ears open for any communication from Gibbs – and from the Raniers' contact. They were both dressed smartly for dinner, a contrast to the more casual clothes they'd worn to Valentino's for their non-date not so long ago. Tony sported an additional accessory: eyeglasses with a mini-camera built into the frames. He made sure he swept the faces of the diners occupying the hotel restaurant, in hopes that Abby could find matches to all of them; maybe narrow things down to a list of potentials that the Raniers had been hired to kill.

The agents half-heartedly paid attention to the menu items, and gave perfunctory replies when the waiter suggested drinks and shrimp cocktails to start off the evening when he took their dinner orders. McGee was the third set of eyes as he took up his position at the bar near the restaurant entrance. He was still dressed to blend in as a member of the uniformed hotel staff, though he had an open channel on his own earwig to keep up with the chatter between his team members and his bosses back at NCIS.

"See anyone you know, darling?" Tony asked Paula, when their server returned with their cocktails.

"No. You?" she asked casually. He shook his head and reached for the tantalizing jumbo shrimp from his cocktail glass. He was about to eat when he heard Dr. Mallard mutter about the unhealthy state of the deceased Jean-Paul Ranier's bowel. Tony pulled a face, and sourly set aside the now less-than appetizing piece of seafood.

"I think I've just lost my appetite, too," Paula said dryly, as she took in her partner's disgusted expression. Somehow, knowing that Ducky was conducting the assassin's autopsy – while they sat waiting to eat their meal – added to her discomfiture.

Presently, a new couple entering the dining area caught Paula's attention. There was something about the man's dark features that was very familiar, and she flipped through her memory banks swiftly. In seconds, she scored a hit. "Uh, Tony," Paula started slowly, "we _may_ have a slight problem…"

Gibbs, ever-alert, even miles away at NCIS HQ, pounced on this statement immediately. "_What _kind_ of problem, Cassidy?_"

"Two people were just seated in the dining room," she replied with urgency, "and one of them is bound to recognize me as soon as he sees me. His name's Yussif Hassan, and he's F.B.I."

"Are you sure?" Tony whispered, leaning in closer. "Where is he?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Paula answered testily. "He was Bill Gamal's replacement at GITMO when his stint was up. And he's sitting at the table behind you to the right."

"_Okay, could he be there on a date?_" Jenny asked, not willing to hit the panic button just yet.

"Not unless he's cheating on his wife," Paula said wryly, "but the woman he's with… she has 'agent' written all over her, too. Boss… if the Bureau is here…"

"_I know, Cassidy_," Gibbs uttered, "_it can't be a coincidence_."

"What do you want us to do?" Tony asked carefully, gazing at Paula, intuiting she was starting to feel even more uncomfortable due to this unforeseen complication.

"_Until we confirm why the Feds are there, stick to the script_," Gibbs replied shortly. "_You wait to be contacted by the Raniers' handler. If Hassan makes you, Cassidy, introduce DiNozzo as your date and leave it at that. Am I clear?_"

"Understood," Paula replied, wondering if she was just imagining the hint of displeasure in Gibbs' voice at the word 'date'.

"_In the meantime, I'm gonna do a little digging into why J. Edgar Hoover has an interest in the Barclay right at this very moment_," Gibbs commented. "_Two agencies playing in the same sandbox could become a problem. Keep your eyes and ears open, you two._"

"Got it, boss," Tony said.

Moments later, their server returned with their dinner orders, and Tony began half-heartedly sawing into his steak. Paula, equally unenthused, stared at her meal, the mounting stress of the situation having suppressed her hunger pangs. If Yussif Hassan recognized her, as he was likely to do sooner rather than later, she decided it was unlikely he would buy the pretext that she was there on a date.

"Not eating, darling?" asked Tony, trying to sound nonchalant.

Paula shook her head. "Too nervous," she admitted. Nevertheless, she raised her cutlery and picked at the salad that accompanied her order of chicken parmesan.

Ducky's voice interrupted any further conversation. "_Tony,_" he said quickly, "_the callouses on Mr. Ranier's hand suggest that he was left-handed._"

Tony stopped, mid-slice, realizing that he should perhaps switch his knife and fork in order to eat, if he was going to properly impersonate the dead assassin. It was awkward, but he managed to continue cutting his meat.

"How's Gibbs going to find out what Hassan and his partner are doing here?" Paula asked, _sotto voce._

"Well, let's just say he has a 'friend' in the Bureau," Tony replied, a small smirk crossing his face.

"A 'friend'?" Paula repeated. She was about to say something along the lines of _He actually has friends in the F.B.I.?_ but stopped herself in time; after all, Gibbs was probably still listening.

"It's, ah – complicated," Tony answered, realizing he didn't quite know how to categorize Special Agent Tobias Fornell.

Paula gave a dubious, half-nod. "'Complicated'," she echoed, "I see."

At that moment, the cell phone she'd removed from the Bible in 'their' hotel room started ringing. Quickly, she pulled it out of her purse, held it up for the camera on Tony's glasses, and answered. "I'm listening," she said under her breath, all the while knowing that Abby had immediately begun a trace of the number on the cell phone's display screen.

The same voice from before started talking: _"Are you enjoying your dinner? I thought it would be helpful for you to see your target in person tonight."_

"How very kind of you," Paula said politely, "but you didn't mention we'd be surrounded by U.S. marines."

The latter line had been specifically tailored to elicit a specific response from the handler. When he didn't seem surprised by the comment, Paula instantly knew the Raniers' target was not among those in uniform attending the birthday celebrations for the Marine Corps.

"_Don't worry about them,"_ the handler growled. _"Just get the job done."_

"Oh, we will," Paula said blithely, hoping to keep him on the line long enough for Abby to complete the trace she was attempting. "We always do… We just don't think it's exactly… _wise_, given the current circumstances…"

There was silence for a beat, then, grudgingly, "I'll talk to my boss."

"Do that," Paula said testily.

"_I've got it!" _Abby declared excitedly, "_2205 M Street. He's calling from a payphone inside the restaurant!"_

In a flash, Tony was out of his seat, mumbling that he had to use the facilities; McGee sprang as quickly as possible from his spot without appearing to be too hurried, lest he attract unwelcome attention to himself. Paula remained in place, trying to seem as normal as possible, but was disappointed when she heard her caller hang up. _Get him, Tony,_ she thought to herself, willing him and McGee to apprehend the man in time.

Five seconds later, she had her answer when she heard Tim declare: "_Federal agent! Don't move!" – _only to have her hopes dashed when Tony's exasperated reply filtered through: "_It's me, Probie; he's gone."_

Paula unconsciously tapped her foot, impatient for Tony's return. Now that the handler was still out there, somewhere, she realized they still had to keep up the pretense of being Sophie and Jean-Paul Ranier. Three minutes passed, though time seemed to telescope, stretching out before her. She deliberately kept her eyes from wandering over to Yussif's table, though she was quite sure by now her ex-GITMO colleague had spotted her and remembered her. To his credit, he did not make any gesture that he recognized her, but if he was on top of his game, she knew he had to also be wondering what she was doing there. She hadn't known Yussif Hassan for very long, but long enough to know that he'd been born and raised in London to American ex-patriots. He'd studied in the U.S., was fluent in four languages, and had joined the Bureau seven years prior. Paula had found him rather dull in social situations, but hadn't wanted to pigeon-hole him by thinking it had anything to do with a reserved 'English' upbringing. Some people were just born with the personality of a wet dishrag. She knew he was married to a white American and had seen pictures of the woman, a pretty enough girl with a nice smile and freckles across her nose. The young Chinese woman presently seated with Yussif, clearly _not_ his wife, appeared bored out of her skull.

_What are you doing here, Hassan?_ Paula thought silently. _If it has anything to do with our case, I hope Gibbs will come up with something sooner rather than later._

A minute later, Tony strode back into the dining room. "He must have slipped out through the kitchen," he said with a rueful frown. Pulling out his chair, he added for Gibbs' benefit: "I didn't even get a look. You want us back in the squad room, Boss?"

"_No," _Gibbs replied almost reproachfully, "_I want you and Paula back in your room, maintaining your cover. I'm still working on why Paula's old GITMO translator pal is sniffing around."_

"Copy, Boss," Tony said.

"This is going to be a long night," Paula sighed in resignation.

Seconds later, they heard Gibbs ask Abby: _"Hey, Abs, what do you got?"_

In reply, the agents heard the lab technician's distinctive voice, loud enough to carry over Gibbs' headset: "_I have a 'whoopee' and I have a 'but'."_

"_Abby-" _Gibbs was using his 'cut-to-the-chase' voice.

"'_Whoopee': I've got a photo of the man that Tony and Paula are gonna assassinate,"_ she started.

"'_But'?!" _Gibbs barked, clearly irritated that Abby was making him wait for the information.

"'_But': I have no idea which of these thirty-two photos is him."_

Paula and Tony exchanged concerned looks. _Sounds like it's going to be a long night for Abby, too_, Paula thought glumly. _Just great._

The remainder of dinner was a strained affair. Paula forced herself to eat what she could, while Tony continued to saw absently at his steak, mechanically chewing and swallowing every mouthful. Someone sitting with them in the restaurant was the Raniers' target, and their mysterious handler was expecting him to be dead, sooner rather than later.

"Do you think he saw you chasing after him?" Paula asked in a hushed tone.

Tony shook his head. "He was long gone; didn't even see a door swinging shut." His mood was somber.

"It's not your fault, Tony," Paula said softly, attempting to lighten his spirits.

"I know," he said glumly, as he pushed aside his now empty plate.

"Are you ready to go back up to the room? I don't think I want to force myself to eat the rest of this," Paula said, indicating her half-finished chicken.

With a quick nod, Tony pushed back his chair and dropped his napkin on his plate. "Let's go."

If Yussif Hassan and his partner were at all interested in the NCIS agents as they departed, they made no indication. Paula breathed a sigh of relief when they were safely ensconced in the elevator that bore them up to their room. Hassan hadn't even looked at her, nor had he followed.

"You okay?" asked Tony, sending her a concerned look.

She nodded and hugged her arms around herself. "Yes. But I don't think I've had such a nerve-racking dinner in a long time."

The elevator bell _dinged_ and the doors opened on their floor. "After you," Tony said, gesturing for her to go first. Both agents fell into a fitful sleep that night, falling into unpleasant dreams about chasing down suspects and dead bodies on autopsy slabs.

* * *

The next morning at 0800 hours, Gibbs sauntered into one of the NCIS conference rooms where F.B.I. Special Agents Tobias Fornell, Yussif Hassan, and Maya Yu were waiting.

Without preamble, an indignant Fornell stood and blurted out: "You want to tell me what the hell NCIS is doing at the Barclay?"

"We're doing our jobs," Gibbs replied evenly, taking a sip of his coffee; his face a blank slate.

"When you called late last night, I didn't know whether to come right down here and demand an answer or go to the hotel and lock up your agents for jeopardizing _our_ operation," Fornell shot back.

"You're damned lucky _my_ agent recognized _yours,_" Gibbs retorted, eying Hassan sternly, "because I'm guessing he wouldn't have bothered to mention it to you that he saw her. So much for cooperation between agencies…"

"I – I thought she was there on a date," Hassan stammered, looking very foolish, while Maya Yu rolled her eyes. It seemed her partner's block-headed moves weren't uncommon. "I mean… How was I supposed to know?" asked Hassan, not knowing when to shut up.

Gibbs ignored him and turned his attention back to Fornell. "You had intel that two assassins were going to hit a target at the Marine Corp Birthday Ball, and your director didn't see it fit to let us know," he said, his tone just shy of accusatory.

Fornell scowled and shifted uncomfortably.

"This isn't the time for a pissing contest," Gibbs said curtly. "We get that we had two agents operating in your jurisdiction without your knowledge. But I think you'll agree that if we want to avoid an ugly incident between our directors over this, we need to make sure we use our resources wisely. Time is of the essence."

The senior F.B.I. agent perked up, sensing there was deal on the table. "What are you proposing?"

"Joint op," Gibbs stated.

"Whose lead?" Fornell asked.

"My team is already in place," answered Gibbs.

Fornell seemed satisfied to let the NCIS team continue as they were, and his face took on a reflective expression. "Did you find out who hired them?"

"Not yet," Gibbs replied, "we're working on it."

"I need more than _that_ in my tap-dance at the Hoover Building," warned an underwhelmed Fornell.

Gibbs understood his counterpart's dilemma. "Give us twenty-four hours," he offered, "then we flip."

That placated Fornell. "F.B.I. gets operation control?"

"Yeah," Gibbs affirmed, "and credit for the collar."

"Agreed!" Fornell said eagerly, looking between agents Yu and Hassan, who sat stupefied, unsure of what just occurred. "The directors get to save face, and we-"

"We get the job done," Gibbs finished with a satisfied nod.

Now that business was out of the way, Gibbs grabbed his ubiquitous coffee cup, completed a perfect about-face, and left a flummoxed Hassan and Yu in his wake. Fornell, however, was grinning.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Special Agent Maya Yu, clad in a pink uniform worm by the regular Barclay Hotel maids, puttered around Tony and Paula's room. As she made cursory motions to tuck in the bed sheets, Tony stole an admiring glance at her rear.

Well aware that she was being looked over, Maya commented: "Like what you see, Agent DiNozzo? The room's clean except for the listening devices we installed. We're free to talk."

She pivoted to face him, and he turned on the charm. "Yeah, so… _ahem_… you're the one who's been watching us?"

"Oh, yeah," Maya said smoothly as she neared him. "You two sounded like you really enjoyed that couples' massage… I guess when you're pretending to be married assassins, you're willing to do anything, right?"

"Absolutely," Tony said, enjoying his proximity to the attractive agent.

"_Anything?"_ Maya cajoled, raising a single, well-shaped brow.

"Anything," Tony acceded, instantly picking up on her implication.

"Hmm," she said, sizing him up, "when this is over, we should really go out for drinks."

Tony smiled broadly. "I'd like that," he murmured, entranced at the thought he had a potential future outing with Maya.

Paula heard the exchange from the bathroom, and couldn't resist running interference. She'd just received information from Abby about some lab results on Sophie Ranier's blood work. The dead assassin's hCG levels were elevated, a sure sign that she was expecting.

"Guess what, Tony," she blithely announced, stepping out of the bathroom, "you're going to be a father."

Tony caught the astonished look on Maya's face. "Um, maybe some other time," she muttered, and made a hasty exit from the room.

Desperate to salvage the moment, Tony sputtered, "She – she was kidding -" but Maya was gone.

"No, I wasn't," Paula said, pretending she hadn't just ruined Tony's chances with the other agent.

A glum Tony uttered an insincere 'thanks'. "You're welcome," Paula said brightly. "And, um, I wasn't kidding. Jean-Paul Ranier is – _was _going to be a father. Sophie Ranier was pregnant when she died. Abby just told me."

The startled expression on Tony's features quickly vanished when the cell phone that had been planted in the Bible started ringing. Both agents approached the device, and Paula picked it up. "He's blocked the number this time," she said, disappointed that it would be impossible to trace.

Tony answered. "Talk to me," he said.

"_There's been a change of plans_," the voice stated.

"Oh?" Tony said questioningly. "What kind of change?"

"_My boss shares your concerns about the timing of the Marine Corps celebrations. He doesn't like the optics."_

"So what's the _new_ plan?" Tony asked, trying to sound exasperated.

"_Not on the phone,_" came the testy reply. "_Be in the lobby in exactly one hour. A black Lincoln will be waiting out front. Make sure you're not followed."_

The caller ended the conversation after issuing those instructions without so much as waiting for an affirmative answer.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, with Tim in position outside the hotel entranceway, Paula and Tony heard Gibbs confirm with Agent Fornell that he had his teams in place to cover them for the meeting with the handler.

"_We've got four unmarked vehicles standing by_," Fornell advised, "_we'll be able to follow them wherever they go."_

"_Tony; Paula,_" Gibbs announced, _"get ready to roll. Hour's almost up."_

"Roger that, boss," Tony said in reply. Paula heard the command, too, and felt an uptick in her heart rate. Once again, they'd be walking into the unknown, with next to nothing in the way of intel. She stood by the window, foot tapping nervously. This morning, she had opted to wear a crisp white, long-sleeved blouse, grey blazer and a matching gray skirt, cut just above the knee. Tony had chosen a more casual light-gray ribbed sweater, dark brown suede jacket, and comfortable black slacks. Neither outfit screamed 'assassin', or 'federal agent'.

After a few beats of silence, Paula turned and realized that Tony was staring at her from where he was seated the bed. "What?" she asked, frowning with confusion over his scrutiny.

He stood and approached her position slowly, cocking his head to one side. "I'm just trying to picture you pregnant."

"Why?" Paula asked, drawing her eyebrows together.

Tony paused for a moment and stood in place. "It's like you said: I'm going to be a father," he replied gently. "It's a great responsibility."

"Yes," Paula said soberly, "it is."

"You think she knew?" Tony pondered aloud, referring to Sophie Ranier.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say yes," said Paula with a nod. "I mean, she – they – _had _to have known."

That brought a puzzled frown to Tony's mouth, and he started to give free rein to a thought that had been occupying his mind from the moment he'd heard about the pregnancy. "Why, then, do 'we' take this contract and put our unborn child in danger?" he asked.

Paula considered for a moment. "Uh, I don't know," she said with a shrug, "why does anybody take a job that's dangerous? Financial reasons, maybe?"

"Kids are expensive," Tony mused, as he leaned against an upholstered armchair.

"Yes, they are," Paula said. Inspired by Tony, she wondered now, too, about why the Raniers would take this job, knowing that they had a baby on the way. They might be professional assassins, but were they that reckless? It wasn't making any sense, and she realized she _had_ to make it make sense. She had to be able to think like Sophie Ranier if she was going to pull off this impersonation when they went down to the meeting with the handler.

From outside the hotel lobby, Tim was ready with an update just as they were coming upon the designated hour. "_No sign of the Lincoln yet,"_ he announced discreetly.

"_That's a solid copy, McGee_," Gibbs said from his post at MTAC, watching the live feed of the lobby entrance on the large viewing screen. "_We're sending them down."_

Fornell said crisply, "_All mobile units: prepare to roll on my mark."_

Less distinct was Director Shepard's voice, though Tony and Paula were still able to pick up on what she was saying while they made their way out of their hotel room: "_This reminds me of our op in the former Czech Republic."_

Gibbs said in reply: "_You took a round in the thigh."_

"_I had the same bad feeling before that op, too,"_ Jenny said in conclusion, worry worming its way into her tone.

Paula felt her gut clench at the director's words; words she and Tony were probably not meant to hear. Tony put it aside and said, "We're on our way to the elevator, boss_."_ Paula kept her silence and followed him down the hallway.

"_Tony; Paula: we're not taking any chances on this one," _Gibbs stated. "_First sign it goes bad, you call it."_

The elevator _dinged _while they were still several paces away_,_ and Tony rushed forward. "Hold the door," he called, and the hotel staffer who'd initially summoned the lift obliged by extending a hand to keep the door from closing. Paula quickened her gait behind Tony to catch up, willing herself to relax. If Director Shepard had had a bad feeling about this, Paula was reminded that she'd been feeling bad about it since she and Tony first took on the Raniers' identities the evening before. She fervently hoped both of their worries were unfounded.

"Thanks," Tony said to the man dressed in the distinctive deep red hotel uniform jacket. Paula slipped past him into the elevator.

"Sure," the man replied amiably.

As the doors started to close, the NCIS agents did not hear Tim announce that a black Lincoln had pulled up to the hotel entrance, nor did they hear the disappointment in the voices of Gibbs and Fornell that it was _not_ the car they were expecting.

The elevator slowed to a stop on the third floor, and as the bell sounded, they heard the hotel waiter say from behind them, "You're getting off here."

In a matter of two seconds, Tony and Paula tried to react to the odd command that was delivered in a flat, emotionless tone. Sensing immediate danger, they made an attempt to reach for their side arms to defend themselves against this surprise threat – a threat that was armed with a silenced pistol pointed at Tony's back. Unfortunately, they were foiled when the doors opened to reveal two new threats. One, a dark-haired man dressed smartly in a black suit, admonished them quite calmly: "Not a wise choice, Mr. and Mrs. Ranier."

If the man's face was unfamiliar to them, his voice certainly was familiar, and he commanded the burly blond man next to him to confiscate their weapons. While the 'waiter' behind them grabbed Tony's handgun, the blond shoved Paula against the side of the elevator and palmed her Sig. Her mind was racing, knowing they had to alert their backup teams somehow that the mission had just gone south in a very bad way.

"The three of you are making a _big_ mistake," she huffed, hoping that the strain in her voice was enough to convince Gibbs and Fornell back at MTAC that something was amiss.

Tony joined in, adding: "Our meeting was supposed to be downstairs, not on the third floor."

The man they now knew to be the Raniers' contact looked impressed. "Very good," he commented with a smirk, "our location and our number in two sentences. It's too bad your friends can't hear you."

The 'waiter' waved a small, electronic device for them to see. "You're being jammed," he stated smugly.

"Bring them to my room," the Raniers' handler instructed. He added for effect: "If they resist, shoot the woman."

Paula felt her blood run cold as the blond maintained a steely grip on her arm and propelled her forward. _No resistance here,_ she thought, as she willed her rubbery legs to comply. She trusted implicitly that Tony wasn't about to try some maverick move, but even so, she realized that if either one of them made any kind of move the handler didn't like, they were both likely to end up dead.

_They still think we're actually Sophie and Jean-Paul Ranier,_ Paula thought, noting there had been nothing in the dark-haired man's manner that suggested he was suspicious of their identities when they'd finally met face-to-face. _Thank God for small mercies_. Doubtless, both she and Tony would already have bullets in their heads if the deception had been detected.

She couldn't make eye contact with Tony, but she took small comfort in the fact that when they failed to reach the ground level for the 'meeting', both NCIS and F.B.I. would know something was wrong. Further, when they failed to make radio contact, they'd send in the cavalry.

_Now, all we have to do is live long enough,_ Paula thought pragmatically.

Inside the dark-haired man's room, Tony and Paula suffered the indignity of being bound to chairs, back-to-back. After a quick search, their earwigs were plucked out, placed on a table, and smashed beyond repair beneath a trash can by the 'waiter'.

The Raniers' handler seated himself off to the side and looked them both over with an expression of unvarnished contempt. "There are two things you need to be painfully aware of right now," he sneered. "One: no one leaves this business. And two: never question the wisdom of the people who employ you."

Tony blustered: "Should I be writing this down?"

The burly blond punished his insolence with a swift blow to the face. Paula flinched in sympathy to her partner's pain.

"I take that as a 'no'," Tony muttered sullenly.

"Where's the disk?" the handler asked.

The question seemed to come out of left field. Jean-Paul and Sophie Ranier must have known, but for Paula and Tony, this was new. Nevertheless, Paula-as-Sophie feigned ignorance and asked: "What disk?"

A simple twitch of the mouth by the handler and narrowing of his eyes signaled to the burly brute to strike Tony again, this time more savagely than the first punch. Paula heard the blow land and cringed at the realization that Tony was being singled out for abuse when her answers were not satisfactory. How long would this continue? Without knowing where this mystery disk was, she didn't know how much longer she would be able to stretch things out, especially when Tony was on the receiving end of the punishment for her lack of 'cooperation'.

"Where, Mrs. Ranier?" the handler urged, pretending he had all the patience in the world.

Paula sighed. She had no idea how long it was going to take the F.B.I. teams to search the hotel for them. "If I tell you," she finally said, after listening to Tony take too many shots for her liking, "will you let my husband go?" In her imagination, her partner's face probably looked like a macerated piece of raw meat, and she couldn't bear the thought of it getting any worse; couldn't jeopardize his life any longer.

"Sophie-" Tony coughed weakly in protest, "what are you doing?"

The handler ignored him and said: "You'll tell me either way, Mrs. Ranier," he said, nodding to his uniformed associate. The 'waiter' brought over a steel case and popped it open. Inside was a dagger with a gleaming, wickedly sharp blade. The handler withdrew it and caressed it briefly before returning it to the case.

Paula fought down a rising tide of panic. For a split second, she was back in a dusty barn, bound and captive by Adam O'Neill, serial killer copy-cat, and he was waving a glinting knife in front of her face, madness flashing in his eyes.

_Get a grip, Paula,_ she warned herself sternly, and forced herself to look up at her current captor's face.

"Why don't you two take a moment?" he said. "Consider your options."

With that, the three men left the room.

"Are you all right?" Paula asked desperately, when she and Tony were alone.

"Oh, yeah," Tony answered, though he hardly sounded like it. "What were you thinking telling him you'd hand over the disk if they let _me_ go?"

"Tony," Paula whispered harshly, "I wasn't going to sit here while they beat the crap out of you all because I'm pretending to be a dead woman! It should be the _real_ Sophie and Jean-Paul Ranier sitting here, not us."

Tony sniffed. "You're right about that," he said quietly. "But listen – I might have a plan."

"Oh, I was hoping you would," Paula said, sending a look heavenward.

"The Raniers obviously stole something they want, and you're going to tell them it's in our hotel room. The only way they'll find it is if you _show_ them."

"That's your plan?" Paula said incredulously. "And, uh, what, exactly, is supposed to happen when they take me to our room, and I actually _can't_ show them where 'it' is? This disk they're asking for?"

"McGee should be waiting for us in there," Tony said hopefully.

Paula exhaled, a tiny ray of hope breaking through the dark clouds. "Right. McGee," she said, and then the panic returned. "But, Tony… what about you? The minute I leave… they're probably going to kill you."

"Oh," Tony muttered, "well, I didn't say it was a _perfect_ plan…"

"Tony…" Paula whispered mournfully.

"You _know_ this is the only way," Tony urged. "You have to do it, Paula. Go. I – I'll do my best to stay alive."

Before Paula could protest any further, the door to the room opened, and two of them re-entered: the dark-haired man and the blond. The 'waiter' was nowhere to be seen.

Wordlessly, they approached the agents, and the dark-haired menace popped open the steel case again, withdrawing the knife in front of Paula's face. He had seen the fear in her eyes the first time, and now she knew he was toying with her.

"Did you know," he stated, slicing the tip of his own index finger, "that the Peruvians make blades so sharp, some people can't even feel the first incision?"

Paula gave an involuntary shudder, struggling to keep visions of her encounter with Adam O'Neill far from her mind's eye. The shoulder that madman had slashed seemed now to burn as if freshly cut. Her silence irritated the hulking blond, and he impatiently slapped a beefy hand around her throat. She let out a tiny yelp of surprise that was quickly squelched by his grip.

"Stop!" Tony called out, knowing the time had come to end things. "The disk's in our hotel room."

"Jean-Paul…" Paula managed to whisper, neck still being held by the blond's vise-like grip.

"Where?" prodded the handler, who was still fondling the blade.

Tony sighed. "She has to show you."

Annoyed, the handler said: "_Not_ what I _asked!_" and made a move towards Paula with the knife.

Quickly, Tony blurted: "You'll never find it without her – even if you kill us."

The handler was fuming with indecision, and Paula prayed he would fall for the ruse. As it was, the knife was much too close to her face for comfort, and she feared he might very well slice open her jugular out of sheer frustration. Finally, he turned to his associate, saying, "Untie her."

The pressure on her throat abated as the blond released her and set about freeing her from her bonds. While he was at that task, the dark-haired man pulled out a cell phone and placed a quick call.

"Clear the room," he said to his party, "I'm on my way up with the girl."

_Oh, damn_, Paula thought. _The 'waiter'. He's up on our floor, and McGee has no idea he's coming… we're all dead._

Nevertheless, she stood when she was freed, massaging her raw wrists.

"Your only mistake was going for one last payday," the handler admonished, while he draped his suit jacket over his arm to conceal his silenced handgun. "You got greedy."

With one last, desperate gambit, Paula said: "I'm pregnant."

That gave her captor cause for pause. "Really?" he finally said, and actually sounded delighted. "Congratulations! Boy or girl?"

Not knowing the answer, and doubting even Sophie Ranier had known, Paula stuck with honesty. "I –I don't know," she replied, puzzled by the sudden shift in the handler's demeanor. Was it possible he actually cared that Sophie was expecting? "We decided we didn't want to know until the actual birth."

"It's the best way, believe me," he said with a smile, though he was currently pointing the pistol at her. "How many months?"

"Three," Tony cut in, wanting to take some of the heat off Paula.

"Morning sickness?" asked the villain, ignoring Tony.

Again, Tony answered for Paula. "Only every single day," he grumbled.

"I hated to see my wife go through it," the handler continued, and Paula thought she caught a note of sympathy in his voice. "But believe me: it's all worth it in the end."

"That's nice to know," Paula said carefully, "I'd like to know for myself if you're right."

"So would I," Tony piped up. "I've always wanted to be a father. Hey, do you think you could maybe grant me my wish and let us live?"

The handler chuckled and nosed the pistol in Paula's direction once again. "Give me the disk," he said smartly, "and we'll see. Play it by ear." He moved towards Paula, motioning for her to exit the room. She reluctantly reached for the door handle, sending a final, anxious look at Tony's battered and bloody face. "If I'm not back in five minutes," the assassin advised his blond associate, "kill him."

_I'm so sorry, Tony,_ Paula thought painfully, knowing his chances were razor thin. The walk to the elevator was too swift for her liking, and she was caught between wanting to delay this killer for as long as possible, and wanting to keep time from slipping away in the hopes that somehow, Tony would be found by their backup teams before he was shot dead.

When they finally reached the Raniers' tenth floor door, the handler tossed the room key card onto the carpeted floor. "Open it," he instructed.

Paula complied, bending down to pick it up, dreading what she'd find on the other side of the door once she opened it. She slipped the key card into the slot and entered the room. In seconds, she saw Tim lying prone on the floor to her right.

_Oh, Tim, no!_ her thoughts screamed, and she rushed forward to him, already afraid that it was hopeless. She knelt beside him, touching her fingers to his carotid, quickly searching him over for any signs of injury or blood. To her utter surprise and relief, he was breathing, and his pulse was steady and strong. McGee was alive! That must mean…

"I hope you weren't counting on your backup, Mrs. Ranier," the killer said complacently.

"Well, I kinda was," Paula said, "but I have backup for my backup."

From behind the door, Gibbs made his move, and delivered a hard left hook to the other man's jaw, sending him crashing against the wall, unconscious.

"Tony?!" Gibbs bellowed to Paula as she helped McGee up off the floor.

"Downstairs! Room 356," she said quickly, "we have to hurry."

Without even being told, McGee hurriedly handed Paula his own backup piece, and the two of them charged out the door after Gibbs. They didn't bother to wait for an elevator and took to the stairwell, dashing madly down the seven flights to the third floor. Paula felt the adrenaline pumping, her thoughts locked on Tony and how he had chosen to put his own life at risk.

_You'd better still be alive, DiNozzo,_ she thought furiously, as they neared the designated room.

Curiously, they heard yells of rage and what sounded like someone getting his head kicked in. Gibbs fired a round through the lock mechanism and burst through the door with Tim and Paula on his six.

The sight that greeted them was almost amusing: Tony, still bound to his chair, was indeed delivering savage kicks to a motionless, burly blond man who was passed out on the floor.

"How does _that_ feel, huh?" exclaimed an enraged Tony. "Huh, big guy?"

Relief flooded Paula for the second time that afternoon. Somehow, her partner had managed to beat the odds, and here he was, exacting revenge on the man who had brutalized him earlier. She almost wanted to see the punishment continue, but knew she had to stop Tony before he actually killed the other man.

"Tony, stop," she said, running forward and placing a hand on his tense shoulder.

"You wanna punch me again?!" he shouted, still not having expended all his pent-up rage. "Come on!"

"I think he's had enough, Tony. Stop it!" Paula said again, getting in front of him and staring him directly in the face, showing him everything was at last all right.

Tony, still breathing heavily from exerting himself, finally seemed to snap out of it. He looked between Paula, the brute, and Gibbs. "I want a divorce," he huffed, and Paula couldn't miss the small smile that quirked her boss' lips.

* * *

Tony's injuries were thankfully minor, a fact confirmed by Dr. Mallard after Tony returned to NCIS HQ that evening following a trip to the hospital. Abby, Paula, Tim and Chip were all gathered around him, recounting the day's 'adventure'.

Ducky, dressed in a tuxedo, commented: "The emergency room seems to have done a pretty good job." Tony removed the wadded-up tissue from his nostrils. Thankfully, his nose hadn't been broken as they'd originally feared. "How do you feel?" asked the medical examiner.

Tony sat up from his reclined position at his desk. "Better, now that I can breathe," he managed, though his still sounded as if he had a terrible head cold. He dumped the bloody plugs into his trash bin.

"Well, there doesn't appear to be any permanent damage," Ducky added. "How many times did he hit you?"

Paula shuddered. _Too many times_, she thought, remembering how she feared the blows would never end.

"I wasn't counting," Tony grumbled tiredly, leaning back once again.

"We're gonna take really good care of you, Tony," Abby declared. "I had Chip pull your car right around front."

Tony sat up in a panic and eyed Abby's new lab assistant. "He drove my car?"

_Uh-oh_, thought Paula, remembering how Tony had warned the valet parking attendant at Valentino's… S_omeone else touched his 'baby'. He's not going to be happy._

Chip smiled reassuringly at Tony. "Just from your parking space," he said calmly, "I took extra-special care."

"Oh, thanks," Tony said, placated.

"Let me take you home, Tony," Paula said, not caring that Gibbs was still there and could hear her offer.

"Still not ready to face the fact that our 'marriage' is over, _eh,_ 'Sophie'?" Tony jibed.

Paula smiled wryly. "I'm afraid that the only thing good about our 'marriage' was the massage, 'Jean-Paul'. Besides, with your nose all banged-up like that, you're likely to snore my ear off."

"Just make sure when you do get home you take a couple aspirin, Tony," Ducky interjected, as he inspected a painful bruise on the younger man's brow, "and perhaps some Scotch, as well."

"I thought doctors weren't supposed to prescribe Scotch anymore, Duck," Gibbs piped up.

Ducky looked over at Gibbs. "Well, it always seems to work for you," he quipped.

"Did you get tickets to that gazelle thing again?" asked Gibbs, nodding in recognition of the doctor's spiffy attire.

"It's '_Giselle',_ Jethro," corrected Ducky, "and no, that's not tonight. Marine Corps Birthday Ball… She didn't tell you?"

Gibbs shook his head, and then glanced up to the bullpen staircase. At that moment, the director was descending, dressed in stunning, low-cut gown with her long, red tresses pulled into a casual pony tail that trailed down her exposed back.

Without another word, Ducky smiled and hooked his arm around Director Shepard's when she reached his side. The pair departed for the evening's festivities at the Barclay Hotel.

For a moment, Gibbs watched as they walked to the elevators, and Paula once again wondered about her team boss and her agency boss. Jenny's comment about getting shot in the thigh during a mission in the Czech Republic echoed in her mind. _They were partners once,_ Paula realized with a start. _But is that all they were?_

"All right," Gibbs said loudly, breaking her reverie, and he moved on to leave the squad room.

"Good night, Boss," Tony said, and attempted to stand up. His efforts were not successful, and he stumbled enough for Paula, Tim and Abby to rush to support him. "I'm all right, I'm good," he managed to say, though he was still rather unsteady on his feet.

"It's okay, Tony," Tim said, "we'll get you to your car."

"Let's go," Paula added, supporting Tony's right side while Tim took the left. Tony groaned as they helped him into the passenger-side seat of his Mustang where Chip had parked it. Paula jingled the keys and hopped into the driver's seat.

"I'll, uh, follow you two so I can bring you back here to pick up your car, Paula," Tim offered.

"Thanks, McGee," Paula said, "that'd be great."

Tim closed the driver's side door gently, and waved before heading off for his own vehicle.

"If you crash this car, Cassidy…" Tony mumbled.

"Relax, Tony," Paula said, "I know this is your baby."

"Damn right," he replied, eyes closed and a slight grimace on his face.

Paula pulled out of the Navy Yard compound and turned the car in the direction of Tony's apartment.

"I didn't get to say it earlier, Tony," Paula said seriously, "but thanks for today. You had my back, and you saved my life."

"Don't mention it," he muttered. "You saved mine, too. I thought that guy was gonna beat me into a coma. If you hadn't spoken up when you did…"

Paula tried not to picture how much worse things could have been for them. "Let's never do this again, okay?"

Tony cracked open an eye and peered over at her. "Do what?"

"Work undercover as a married couple," Paula answered.

"Why not?" Tony asked. "I thought we were pretty convincing."

"It almost got us killed," Paula countered. "We didn't know enough about the Raniers. We didn't know about that data chip Sophie had implanted in her _eye_. We didn't know that they were planning to get out of the contract killing 'business'. We didn't know _anything_ useful!"

"And yet," Tony said philosophically, "we made it in the end. Paula, I know you're probably used to working alone; that you like to have all the answers. The real world isn't like that. Now, this is a team, and you're a part of that. I think you know by now we're not going to let you down."

"But-" she started to protest.

"But nothing," Tony cut her off. "I know today was dicey. And yeah, I would have been more comfortable if we'd had more intel. But sometimes, we just don't have that luxury. And if it's Gibbs you're still worried about, don't. He's a bastard to everybody."

Paula didn't speak for a few minutes, letting the purr of the Mustang's engine fill in the silence. "You're right," she finally said. "It's just that, uh, for a few moments… in that room…"

"What?" Tony prodded when she didn't continue.

But Paula was reluctant to tell him exactly what had flashed through her head when she'd had a knife in front of her eyes. She didn't want Tony to be concerned that her encounter with Adam O'Neill still haunted her.

"I, uh, I guess I just thought we were sitting ducks in there," Paula finished lamely.

"Yeah," Tony sighed, "me, too."

For the rest of the drive, they let the conversation die down. In due time, Paula pulled into Tony's parking space at his apartment complex. "Do you need any help getting inside?" she asked gently.

"No, I'll be fine," he answered. "Thanks for asking."

Paula climbed out of the driver's seat to wait for McGee to pull up to take her back to NCIS HQ. "Well," she said to Tony, "good night, Mr. Ranier."

Tony smiled and came around to where she was standing. "Good night, Mrs. Ranier," he said, and gave her a quick hug. "By the way," he added, "_you're_ the one who has a problem with snoring."

* * *

TBC


End file.
